Bad Romance
by onelildustbunni
Summary: Laura's lived the majority of her life as a weapon. When she gets an assassination contract to kill Professor Xavier, she immeadiatley accepts-but can she follow through when she realizes she could have a life there? Hellion, X-23 and Wolverine. AU.
1. Chapter 1

**TITLE: **Bad Romance  
**STARRING: **Hellion/X-23  
**UNIVERSE: **AU based on Ultimate X-men  
**RATING: **M  
**SUMMARY: **A whole new take on the X-men. Laura and her twin brother Jim come to the school to kill Professor Xavier, but will they?  
**_TITLE NOTE: _**Named after Lady Gaga's Bad Romance.

* * *

**-1-**

"I dunno, Jimbo. Are we really ready for this?" the girl asks, wrinkling her slightly beaky nose.

The boy and the girl are standing outside, in the brisk autumn breeze, an assortment of eyes trained on the mansion that looms above them. It looks forbidding in the  
dim light, haloed with the leafless skeletons of trees.

"Don't call me that."

"Are times really this desperate?" the girl persists, ignoring him. "I really think whoring you out is a better idea. You've got two very viable holes—four if we count your  
ears—and they could each be bringing in a couple hundred an hour."

"Shut the _fuck_ up. We're going to have _retirement _money if we pull this off."

"You really planning to retire?" the girl asks, with an amused grin.

"Don't think it'll be necessary. My point is we could easily afford to Get Lost, if we do this. _Really _lost, so no one can find us again."

The girl says nothing, looks at the school again.

"Well, we ain't getting in by ringing the doorbell, Laur. Time to hit the books."

"We could pretend our car has engine trouble," the girl says.

"We don't have a car."

"Well that's some serious engine trouble right there."

"Fuck off," says the boy, annoyed. "This will take _serious_ planning. You know this. The guy in that castle there is the world's strongest mind reader. Blocking him out is going to be hard."

"It doesn't matter in your case. You've got nothing in your head anyway."

"_LAUR!" _

"Okay, geez. We sleep on it?"

They leave.

**…**

Laura looks up at the moon from the rooftop, her hair flying in wisps around her head, her skin very pale, her expression sad, as opposed to its usual extreme expressions of displeasure,  
amusement, or excitement. In the dark, blood was black, as she thinks it really is. It just pretends to be red. Blood black with the deeds of those that came before her, and those who end  
with her, and the in-between. A drop falls out between her fingers; she watches it fall slowly, part of her mind calculating how fast it is going, and when and where it will land.

_Plat! _the gentle noise on the sidewalk thirteen stories below. It rings in her ears. She and the boy live on the thirteenth floor. People pretend it's the fourteenth, but really, she knows the score.

In the room they share, the boy sleeps on the ratty fold-out couch, and she gets the narrow bed. He is there now, grunting and making angry sounds in his sleep. _**SNIKT, **_she hears, a slightly

heavier sound than her own claws popping. Because Jim's are heavier, and he has more of them.

"RAWWRL!" he snarls, swiping at the air with his claws. Laura sighs, then swivels on her behind, ducks and climbs back into the room, where Jim is obviously having a night terror.

It's her job to wake him up when he does this. She rolls her eyes, grabs a pillow, and goes for it, clapping it soundly over his face and putting pressure down. "WAKE UP!" she yells, automatically

curving her body away from the claws that shoot straight up—but she's not fast enough. A claw slices right through the pillow, parts the stomach of her shirt and slides right into her stomach.

"WHUMMPF—jeeezus—" Jim's waking up now; he retracts his claw, and Laura bends over for a second.

"Sorry," he grumbles, sitting up and rubbing his eye. "Hurt?"

Laura examines the red splotch. Smooth, unbroken skin. "Damn, kitty's got claws. I actually _bled._"

Jim seems unimpressed. "Nah, that's just whatever you spilled on yourself earlier, you bloodthirsty harlot."  
"Not a nice way to describe your sister," Laura says, heading towards the bathroom with a new t-shirt in hand. "Coincidentally, I've come up with a cover story for the school thing."

"Oh?" Jim is all ears. He's looking forwards to be able to afford some answers—and some real disappearing. Then they won't need to live on the edge all the time; they could relax. There'd be no  
chance of Kimura riffling a hair on their heads ever again.

"We get caught," Laura's voice trails from the bathroom along with the thundering sounds of herself pulling on a new garment.

"That's not a plan, that's a death wish," Jim replies. He doesn't sound surprised.

"Oh, but how," Laura says, looking around the corner. "I'd kill anyone to be able to die."

"I hear you." Jim makes a face. "I actually have a headache, can you believe that?"

"You _are_ a headache," Laura replies. The pillow is flung at her and she ducks easily, with almost the same expression of mischief on her face as her brother.

Jim is her brother—her twin sibling. They're the rarest kind of twin, genetically identical except for gender, and their claws. They were created by a lab about ten years ago and artificially aged to the  
maturation of their mutations. And were given a military education, in addition to dog training and both psychological and physical torture by their handler, an unstable, brutal woman named Kimura.

They are alone in the world, together.

**…**

The boy leans, his cheek on his palm, his palm on his elbow, his elbow on the desk, on the surface of which he taps his pencil, his eyes on the clock on the wall across the room. He looks weary. Before  
him is an exam sheet; the room is quiet save for the sounds of scraping pencils.

He's tired. He's been up all night, studying; this is his final exam. Forever. Well, it's the end of high school anyways. And he thinks he's failing. Scratch that—he knows. His thick eyelashes droop; he suddenly  
wishes he had paid a bit more attention to the academic side of school. Instead of working his ass off for football and popularity.

Well, he hated the books side of school. It made him feel dumb. When he tried to read a sentence, the words swam, and suddenly interchanged ends, and became totally different things. Hopped around on  
the page like frogs. Sometimes it was worse, and then sometimes he'd actually get to _read_ it before it happened. He remembers a time when he liked reading, when he actually could tell what the sentence meant.

It seems like forever ago, but in reality it was only three years since.

Looking at the paper that awaits his pencil, he contemplates scratching his leg. And exposing his upper knee through his shorts. And looking at some things he'd scribbled on his skin this morning, after no sleep,  
and with ten minutes to go before he left.

_Choose one of the topics below and then write a 200 word essay._

The words on his thigh aren't going to help him. Already the words are warping in front of his eyes, changing. _Easy choose none of the 200 toothpicks below and write then. _

He feels like crumpling the paper. His pencil lead snaps under the pressure he's exerting; his knuckles are white. He doesn't understand what's happening to him. Is he getting stupider by the minute?

"All right, pencils down," the lady at the desk at the front says, not looking at them. Her pale blue eyes are trained on a magazine on her desk.

He ignores her. The sound of twenty-nine pencils hitting the desk, but not his.

"I said pencils _down, _Keller," the lady says, louder this time. Her voice is nasally.

He looks up, his eyes full of hatred. Fuck her. He wants to stab his pencil into her eye socket.

Next moment the kids around him are screaming, trying to escape their desks; the test administrator is sitting still in her chair, her head lolling over the edge, a pencil firmly lodged in her eye  
socket through a shattered spectacle lens.

There is a _lot_ of blood.

"Holy shit!" he says, bolting backwards himself, shoving the desk away with a loud screech. The sight is revolting—who would _do_ something that sick? Then he remembered his sudden urge to  
do just that—to make her shut up.

No way. He grabs his book bag and runs for the door while the students are still too startled to think. No stopping; he walks very quickly across campus, people yelling things to him. Greetings, news  
about the disaster that has just happened in the testing room, flirtations. He rummages in his coat pocket, his fingers icy and numb. Keys, keys…there, he has them, he needs his car now.

There, just where he'd left it. A little red Roadster. It gleams softly in the dying light, with all the time and effort of what should have been spent on his school. At least he has something to show  
for it. And, after all, it is his dad's car—the only thing he has left of him.

He gets in, with shaking fingers inserts the key in the ignition, turns. The car purrs to life.

"It wasn't me," he whispered to the car's interior. "I'm not a bad guy. Really."

Nothing talks back to him. He suddenly becomes aware—in the silence—of his roaring, pounding migraine headache that he can actually _see—_little green sparks of light—when he closes his eyes.

He backs out and heads for home.


	2. Chapter 2

**-2-**

* * *

"You know, when I get married, I want _this_ in my ring," Laura whispers. She is hanging upside from a hook in the ceiling, her eyes trained on the prize: a giant, softly glittering blue gemstone, with about  
a million facets. It is pure, and she can see down to the center—a black pit of nothing. The world's largest Sapphire, and like most women, Laura feels the secret longing to own it. "It's almost hypnotic.  
You could gaze into its depths forever and lose yourself."

Jim snorts, from the ceiling, looking down at her as she approaches the gemstone, her legs crossed above her and her hair hanging straight down towards the floor. "_When _you get married? That's a pretty  
strong _if_, Laur." He too talks very quietly.

"It'll happen," Laura says stubbornly.

"Even with your views that its stupid, it ends your life, it ties you down and would ruin your swinging fun? Don't want to insinuate anything but…"

"Yeah, so I'm not a virgin," Laura says, sounding like she is concentrating on the gem. _Sppprtt, _as she sprays aerosol around the gemcase. Red lines reveal themselves in the mist that results. "Lookit the  
pot calling the kettle black. At least I don't bring them _back_ with me!"

"In my defense, I was really wasted," Jim says, grinning.

"She puked on my bathrobe and used _my_ toothbrush."

"If you brought guys back with you, I'd have to kill 'em anyway. Brother code of honor, and all that, right?"

"Right," Laura says, rolling her eyes and sounding like she doesn't agree. "Because you stick to that _so_ well. As I recall, you used to direct Kimura to me."

Jim stiffens. "I was a freakin' five-year-old, Laur. I never did it after the once. Even _that_ was an accident…you know I'd never…"

"I know," Laura says, and doesn't push the issue. "Pass me the Shooter."

Jim tosses down a pistol-shaped object to the girl, who catches it easily, then holds it towards the source of the lights. She pulls the trigger with a _ka-click_, and the light just goes out. She repeats it six times,  
once for each beam of light, then makes a thumbs-up sign without looking at Jim, and passes the tool back to him. "It's got a fucking plinth," Laura says. "I think it's a pad alarm."

"You _think?_"

"Figure of speech. Hand me the EMF."

Jim throws another device down at her. This one is shaped like a small portable hairdryer. She catches it, aims it at the bubble surrounding the gem (which indeed does sit on a plinth) and depresses the  
trigger. _Chooom zzzzt, _the device makes a sound that trails off on the end. The lights flicker for a moment but remain on; the small box on the display case changes its status light from green to nothing.

"Bingo," Laura says, passing the EMF back up. "Now for Cupid, please."

Jim rolls his eyes and tosses down the large suction cup she refers to as Cupid. She catches this (like himself, she doesn't even need to see an object to catch it—it's a reflexive movement) and then applies  
it to the strongest point of the dome—right at the top.

"And _wallah,_" Laura says, lifting the dome off to reveal the gem. With the other hand she carefully, slowly reaches down and removes the prize from its plinth. The gem feels cool even through her gloves.

They both stiffen, listening.

Nothing happens.

"I'm a professional," Laura says, sounding smug. She replaces the glass dome, then curls and pulls herself back up into the air vent, grinning. "Let me look at it properly."

"Later," Jim says. "Let's get going while the going's good."

Along the air vent they shuffle on their hands and knees, as quietly as they can. There's still one security guard left in the building (who is probably going to lose his job for this), and they will have to pass  
over his office again. Last time, they could see him dozing beneath them through the grating, and Laura had wanted to spit on his shiny bald head; however, Jim wouldn't let her.

They reach the exit door and push it open gently—to reveal about twenty sets of booted feet.

"_**FREEZE!**_" the cop bellows as Jim stands up, his eyes wide.

"Laur, did you call the cops?" he asks, bewildered.

"Wha—oh, _shit,_" she says, as she steps out of the air vent herself and straightens. So intent on the catch himself, the policeman doesn't notice Laura's hand as it swings by a conveniently located potted  
plant and drops a black satin pouch.

"_**LAY DOWN YOUR WEAPONS!**_" the police man barks. Jim holds up his hands, as does Laura; they have no weapons to lay down. This at least is true—they can't put down their weapons.

And at this precise moment in time, they don't intend to use them.

"You get that one," the lead cop says, nodding to Laura as he pulls out a set of handcuffs. "I'll take care of this shifty freak here." Meaning James.

The twins trade a glance. They know only how easy it would be to break free, but they are counting on something, something they know will result from this.

As horrible as it is.

**…**

The boy is gripping the sides of his bed, his stomach fluttering, his head moving too fast. Like it's full of snakes, angry, screwing snakes. He's squeezed his eyes completely shut, but that doesn't  
make it go away. The green sparks illuminate the darkness, blinding him from inside, making the headache even worse. He's thrown up five times already, and saw a little blood.

"Stop," he moans. He has a light sensation, like he's floating.

Because his eyes are closed, he doesn't see that he actually _is. _His bed is floating about three inches off the ground, like a helium-filled balloon anchored to something that is almost too light to hold it.

_Knock knock, _on his door. "Julian…are you alright in there?" Muffled, through the thick oak panel.

_Christ, how I'm _not, Julian thinks, but in a broken voice he yells "Yeah…thanks, mom."

"I heard you retching earlier. Are you sick?"

"Think I ate something bad," Julian replies. He doesn't want to think about _food_ right now.

"Do you want some crackers, honey?"

"No. Thanks, mom," he says hoarsely.

The door opens a crack. "I hope this doesn't ruin your big night for you," his mother says. "Sofia was _really_ looking forwards to it, you know. I helped her with her dress."

"I know, mom…I hope not, either," Julian says.

_Clunk! _An odd jolting sensation, as his bed hits all fours again.

"Are you _alright_ in here?" His mom pushes the door open and casts a worried glance at his face. He's covered in sweat, his face pale, and there is crusted sick on his shirt (the first one caught him by complete surprise).

"Enjoying life," he croaks, with a weak grin.

"Honey!" His mom says. "Let me help you. Do you have a headache?"

Does he? He feels like laughing. "Yeah," he grunts.

She sighs. "You shouldn't work yourself so hard on your studies. You're getting headaches all the time now. Hang on, I'll bring you something to help."

His mother leaves momentarily, returns with painkillers, which he swallows gratefully.

"Are you going to stay together with Sofia?" she asks him, sponging his forehead with a cool damp cloth that feels like heaven.

"…I didn't have plans to break up," he says. "Did she say something?"

"No. I just know that a lot of couples go their separate ways after high school." She pauses, smiles. "I think you're a good match, you know. She would make a great partner."

"Oh." Julian closes his eyes, takes a sip of the water she's brought him.

"If you want to move things a step further, there's your grandmother's ring. I'd like to give it to you."

Julian coughs as water goes down the wrong pipe. "_HURKK—_oh, really?" he asks.

"Yes. I like Sofia." His mom's subtle way of saying _I want grandkids, as soon as possible. _

"Maybe. I don't know. We haven't talked about that yet." He's been with her for a long time—four years, five? Neither of them had brought it up.

"Oh," his mom says, but her enthusiasm doesn't sound diminished. "Well, you should."

"I'll get right on that," he mumbles.

Just let him get through this first, please.

He has to be the most miserable person in the world at the moment.

**…**

"I've got to be the most miserable person in the world at the moment," Laura moans, leaning her head against the wall of the transport vehicle.

They had just heard on the cop's radio that Kimura was waiting at the precinct for them, along with the police chief. She had armored vehicles. And no doubt, a lot of pent-up cruelty waiting for them.

"That makes two of us," Jim says dryly. "Police brutality is getting worse and worse."

"Shut up back there," the police officer warns. The twins roll their eyes at each other and smile, knowing they could decapitate everyone in the car within the next five heartbeats—if they wanted to.

It's when they reach Kimura that the plan grows risky. Even the two of them aren't a match for _her._

"I feel like a kid heading to Sunday School, to meet God," Laura whispers. Exactly what Jim is feeling. He worries, not just for himself, but for Laura.

Kimura has an especially sick fascination for abusing his sister. He's watched her, broken beyond movement himself, barely conscious, as she tortured Laura, a small girl of four. Before the artificial aging.

"This better work," he murmurs.

"_**I SAID, SHUT UP BACK THERE!**_" the policeman in the front roars, the cords in his neck straining, his face reddening like a baby screaming. He looks ugly when he yells.

"Okay, jeeeez," Laura says. They roll their eyes again.

**…**

As they enter the station, each held by a policeman, their eyes meet the solid form of the dark-skinned woman named Kimura, who is seated in front of the gruff police Chief, and turning to look at  
them. She's wearing her camos—no doubt she's passed herself off as army.

Kimura has a dazzling white smile. "Hi, kids," she says sweetly. "I missed ya."

The twins say nothing. It makes her smile widen.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: **Crazy real life...

* * *

**-3-**

Prom night. Julian waits by the door, corsage in hand. It's been carefully coordinated with the dress that his date will be wearing, even though he hasn't seen the  
outfit yet. His mother and Sofia had concealed it from him, giggling in the kitchen and whispering together for about a month to up until now.

The door opens; it's Sofia's sister, Vanessa, smiling at him brightly with a smile similar to Sofia's. Wide and dazzling white. "Hi, Julian," she says in her heavily  
accented voice. "You look very good."

"Thanks," Julian says. "I bet your sister is decked out too."

"Is she ever," Vanessa says. Sofia's mother, who speaks no English, smiles at him from the other end of the parlor, where she is holding a camera to take a picture  
of her daughter when she comes down the stairs. Sofia's household is quite friendly; like Julian, she, too, lacks a father, and so there has never been any father and  
daughter's boyfriend awkwardness.

_Clump, clump, clump, clump, clump…_Sofia coming down the stairs in heels, smiling widely. She is wearing a very elegant black dress that shows off her figure. Her long  
brown hair has been professionally styled, and she is wearing a little more make-up than usual, very tastefully done.

Sofia is breathtaking. A strange thought in the back of his head. She really is breathtaking, and would be to anyone; but does he feel he should have his breath taken  
away at the sight of her? Is it pressure?

"Photos," Sofia's mother says, waving at him to join Sofia. "I take."

After a few more minutes of pleasantries, the pair joins hands and leaves the house, walking towards Julian's car. Neither of them had cared for the idea of a limo; Sofia  
enjoys riding with the top down. She really likes wind. On the freeway, she often lets her long hair loose so it whips back, and she sometimes stands up in her  
seat to get the full immersion experience.

Not tonight. Or at least Julian hopes not; she'd ruin her hair and make-up, and possibly fly off because the dress has so much fabric that it might act as a kite.

"I want this evening to last forever," Sofia says as they get in. She is obviously having a good time already, something he likes about the girl. She is a go-getter and it's not  
hard to have fun with her. It's part of the reason she's captain of the cheer squad—Sofia is a ball of Cheer, and she doesn't hesitate to share it. She's never been the  
stereotypical mean popular girl at all.

"Should be fun," he agrees. He starts the engine, and they drive back to school, him with his hand on her knee and trying to forget the accident with the test  
administrator. It had been on the news, but as no one had been looking up when it happened and there had been no fingerprints except her own on the pencil, it had  
been assumed that either she had gone crazy and stabbed herself, or alternatively fallen asleep, hit her head on the desk with the pencil at just the right angle.

It was found that she _did_ have a history of clinical depression on her records.

Julian knows they'll never connect the dots. _He_ can't even connect the dots. What the hell had happened? Everything had been fine one minute, then he'd had a  
flash of anger—not even really directed at the women—more an overall frustration at his complete lack of understanding the test.

How had his mental image of stabbing her in the eye with a pencil come true?

He would have put all this down to him not sleeping before the exam week, except for the news reports. Even his mother, a nurse, had shaken her head and covered her  
mouth at the news, then begun babbling questions at him as to why he hadn't mentioned what had happened.

So what is going on? Is he going crazy? Does he have some kind of weird power to make something he is thinking about happen in real life? Maybe he had read her mind somehow?

Till now, Julian has never believed any rumors he'd heard about 'mutants', people that had strange abilities like he seems to have. It is a fearful, hateful rumor; people have a  
Ku Klux Klan attitude towards these strange beings. Articles have appeared in trash magazines like _the Enquirer _and _411,_ but who believes those?

"Something on your mind?" Sofia asks with a smile.

Yeah. "No, just thinking about how pretty you look," he lies with a shit-eating grin, like he always does when he's thinking about something he doesn't want to share. It's a double  
whopper, and earns him points in the process, so why not? Sofia will never know what he's _really_ thinking.

**…**

The room is dark.

Laura hangs her head, her teeth clamped around the rubber ball in her mouth, her expression one of distress as she eyes the approaching woman.

Kimura has them in separate rooms. She has a chainsaw. Laura heard Jim yelling hoarsely earlier, while that same chainsaw revved and spat blood everywhere. She can  
smell it. It has been silent since, but Laura _knows_ Kimura wouldn't give them a mercy killing. Even if it was possible.

"Hi, kiddo," she says, dropping something at Laura's feet. Jim's arm. That's just great, she wants to vomit but it'll just start a never ending cycle of  
vomit-stopped-by-gag-choke-more-vomit, so she doesn't. She closes her eyes instead. It'll hurt like hell. She thinks back on her brilliant idea of getting caught so  
they would need Xavier's help. Was it worth this?

Kimura slugs her across the face suddenly, forcing her head to snap on her neck.

"Mmmrph," she says into the gag, her eyebrows drawn together.

"Clones," Kimura says, in a disgusted tone. "I punish, and punish, and punish, and you never get better!" She pauses, then grins. "Luckily, I like punishing you. I thought  
you should know…my baby's hungry."

She's patting the chainsaw. Laura steels herself as the madwoman pulls the starting chain; but nothing can prepare her for the sensation of having her arm cut off. She's no  
wussy, but this is more than enough to make her cry out in pain. It makes spots swim before her eyes; her knees buckle and she falls forwards slightly, dangling from her remaining arm.

Kimura hefts Laura's severed arm in her hands, then clubs her in the face with it, over and over. With the bloody end, and sometimes the hand. Then she tosses it  
away and helps herself to a leg; after that she drops the chainsaw, pulls out her buck knife and starts cutting, slowly excruciatingly.

Laura fights to lose consciousness, but every time she comes near it, her healing factor kicks in and wakes her up. Kimura produces a lemon, smiles nastily at her as she  
cuts it in half with her bloody buck knife, then introduces the juices to her open wounds.

When Kimura finally laughs and turns away, Laura is a bloody, vaguely human-shaped lump of tortured flesh. She is sans an arm and a leg, has about a hundred and twenty-eight  
stab wounds and more minor cuts, and is missing an eye. Her lips are split open (at the sides too because she should 'smile more') in a Joker-esque manner, her nose, tongue and  
both her ears have been removed, and she has been scalped.

Her hair lies at the floor by her remaining foot, in bloody, ripped out chunks. Oh yes, Kimura had extracted it in fistfuls before using her knife.

Laura wishes she could die. She can't. After a few minutes, she hears a moan come from the other room.

"Yuh….Yihhh?" she asks, her voice low, cracked from screaming, her lips killing her to speak, unable to pronounce a word properly as her tongue is gone.

Somehow, she's still sane.

"Luh..laur...you OK?"

Laura laughs, a little hysterically. "HAHAHA…ha..."

She can't even say no.

"Glad…you find this _funny,_" Jim says sarcastically. He's much further along in the healing process than she is.

She groans.

"I second that," Jim's disembodied voice says. "The sounds were actually kind of entertaining. Took my mind off what she'd done to me." He is already getting better  
by the minute; Laura can hear it in how much more articulated he's becoming.

Laura grunts.

"'Scuse me…can't hear you. What'd you say?"

"F…fuuuck yuh oou," she manages.

"Hey, you're better off than me. She can't cut off your vagina," Jim says, and for a second Laura feels even sicker. Then it struck her as funny, and she laughs some  
more. She can tell he's trying to help her get through this by distracting her; she knows eventually the pain will stop. One, maybe two hours?

"Kimura's a lucky psychopath. Most people who like torture as much as she does have to wait months for the victim to recover, if ever. But Kimura…she's got two victims  
who heal faster than she can dish out the punishment." Jim observes.

"Uh huh," Laura says emphatically. Already her wounds are itching; in about ten minutes, the blood will not be fresh even on the cut-off limbs. There will be little  
fetal-like buds in both her arm and hip as the new ones grow in.

She casts a glance to her discarded limbs on the floor. They are streaked with blood, and look disgusting. Laura notes that the fingernails on the removed hand were painted  
black; now she will have to redo everything. _Fuck!_ She hates painting her nails, but loves the effect.

Also, they will have to take it to remove the adamantium claws when they escape.

"Hey, is my arm in there?" Jim asks, thinking the same thing.

**…**

The room is dark.

Julian and Sofia are dancing, after mingling for a bit. Her dress is admired; both are complimented constantly over the evening. A few others from the cheer squad have their  
collective eye on Julian, because he plays football and association with a player from the team can equal reflected popularity.

He wonders what they will do now that they are finished high school.

"I love this song!" Sofia whispers. It's a slow dance; they spin out onto the floor, well matched, the mass of girl and dress bundled in his arms and resting lightly on his shoulder.

Suddenly he winces as a bolt of green jags across his closed left eye; a dull pound. _Ache ache ache._ He feels sick and clutches the girl tighter, hoping he won't throw up on  
her dress. _NO. Focus on something else. Anything else. Like…_he notices one of the girls on the cheer squad, a pixie-cut redhead with long, smooth legs, well muscled. Very  
sexy. Jennifer, that's her name. It's got to be. Or Janet. She's wearing a halter dress and it conceals her legs.

He pictures her legs beneath the dress.

Suddenly there are screams; his eyes snap open. Jennifer is surrounded by green light—_the light he's been seeing in his head!_—and the skirt of her dress has been sucked up  
in the air to reveal her from the waist down. He doesn't examine her legs; horrified, he thinks about how to stop this, whatever it is.

"_Julian_," Sofia says apprehensively, glancing at him with wide eyes.

She knew, somehow, that he was involved. She turned and stormed out of the prom, her heels clicking on the floor for dramatic effect. This distraction does the trick; the girl's  
skirt drops. He runs out after Sofia, his heart pounding. If this got out…

He was in Trouble, with a capital T.

**…**

"We're in Trouble, with a capital T," Laura said. "If Xavier is such a big philanthropist, why hasn't he jumped in yet, huh?"

They were on opposite ends of a cell block and could not see each other, but they could hear.

"Maybe he hasn't heard," Jim mumbled back.

"Well. He better hurry up and hear or we'll be shipped off to the Canadian sector again. You know how governments like keeping State secrets. We'd be much harder to find if we cross the border."

"Mmm." Jim agrees but offers no further input.

"You'd think he'd be all over this," Laura grumbles fretfully. "I mean, come _on._ Two kids as twisted as we are, treated like an apprentice's practice steak at a butcher shop…"

"That was some comparison," Jim says.

"I know. I'm quite proud of pinning down the exact emotion for this. Are you proud of me?"

"Yeah." He pauses. "Lot of people don't have a kid sister who can _live _through _this_."

Laura pauses too. She feels awkward; Jim and her prefer to bash each other in good sporting fun; compliments like this are unusual. It means things are really bad, and he's afraid  
something will happen, so he feels the need to tell her how he feels. "I am _not_ your kid sister! Stop saying that!" she yells back.

"I was first-born."

"By like three minutes! That's hardly enough time to have any superiority over me!"

"Sometimes you make me wish she had just stopped delivering after _me_."

"Fuck you!" Laura snaps.

"Oooh, a bad word," Jim calls back. "Little sister has a potty mouth."

"Somebody needs to feed you a shut-up sandwich!" Laura yells. "I'll do it next time I see you. I don't care if Kimura's doing her thing, I'll just run up and join in."

Jim laughs. Laura's always had the strangest insults—even as a child—and he's not sure where she gets them from, as they were instructed on language from the same material when  
they were infants. Clinical, medical jargon that they had agreed was the first thing that had to change when they escaped and saw the real world.

"I owe you a Charlie horse," he answers.

"Well, I'd give you a purple nurple."

"Noogie. Ouch, _that_ would hurt. I saw your hair lying in Kimura's Chamber of Horrors. What's it look like now?"

"Ass," Laura replies flatly. "Scalp is back, but the hair's still working. It's about crew-cut now. I hope I don't develop a bald spot."

"You would have to promise me you'd wear a comb over," Jim says. "Or at least a bitchin' mullet."

"Hell _yeah_," Laura says. She sighs. "Okay, so any thoughts on what we do to get out of here if Chuckles Xavier doesn't pop his bald head in for a look-see?"

"Try the usual," Jim says casually. They'd made a plan A, B and C as to what they would do should the plan fail miserably (as it was doing). This lack of audible plans will be sure to  
frustrate whoever is watching them with the surveillance camera.

"I could _so_ go for a beer right now," Laura says dreamily. "Or an everlast…"

The latter is a shot drink the twins had invented, consisting of part-Everclear grain alcohol (190 proof), a shot of grenadine, a shot of coca cola, and part-rubbing alcohol. Jim and Laura are  
very resistant to alcohol, due to their accelerated metabolism; however, if the alcohol is strong enough, they _can_ get wasted. They have invented several shots with different flavors  
(and had fun naming them), but the 'everlast' is Laura's favorite.

"Hell, I could do with the rubbing alcohol. Say…there's an idea. I bet they have some in the lab room. Take a look if you get taken there?"

"You know it," Laura says. The twins can steal _anything, _even if they are nude and surrounded by an armed guard watching for just such an action. After all, they'd had the best training.

A little while later Laura curls up on her side, keeping her still-growing arm away from the tile. The skin on it is shiny and raw, and the fingernails still developing, but it is an arm again, with a  
hand. Her leg has already regrown and is tucked under herself as she curls in a fetal position.

She is thinking of when she used to curl just like this over her mother's knee, her head in her lap. Gentle fingers would stroke her face, finger-comb her hair in pleasant motions, and a  
soothing voice would explain things. Tell her she was loved, despite how she was treated. And read to her, from Pinocchio.

For the longest time, Laura had longed to be a real boy. Then Jim had pointed out she was female, so she'd changed it to 'real girl'.

"Jim?" she asks.

A few moments pass. "Yeah?" her brother calls back groggily.

"I want mum," she says softly.

Jim pauses. "Yeah," he says. He misses their mother too. She'd treated him the same way, but he'd always seen that Laura was her little girl, and did not resent her for this  
concession. How could he, when Laura had been the one forced to kill her.

For a while, he'd had to battle unreasonable anger at his sister for doing it. But he knew it had ripped the girl apart, and he'd had to take care of her. She had been thirteen  
years old and very frightened and confused; and dangerous. A smell could make her kill anyone.

Jim doesn't know what his trigger is, or if he even has one. Some of the training the twins received varied, as they were trained as a black ops unit, each with a different support  
role. Laura has always been the one who stole, who infiltrated, as being a girl she is less suspect. Jim can do these things too, but Laura is the specialist. He specializes in first aid,  
tactics and strategy, and leadership (although Laura and himself operate as equals).

"I miss her so badly sometimes," Laura says in a quiet, small voice.

"I know," Jim says. He shifts. "So do I."

Eventually they fall asleep.


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: **Sorry for update delays, had alot going on! Finals, moving, flying out to Iowa to be with fiance, holidays...I am still staying with Bryan so updates may not be frequent, but I have not forgotten! :-)

* * *

**-4-  


* * *

**

"Sofia, wait," Julian calls, following his date out into the parking lot. He can see her running in the darkness up ahead, her gown shimmering slightly, her heels clip-clopping as she runs. She's very upset.

"STOP!" he shouts, reaching out towards her, ten feet behind. He is alarmed to see green sparks at his fingertips, and for an instant Sofia freezes, as if held back by an invisible wall.

Incorrect. It wasn't invisible…it was green too.

"Let me _go!_" Sofia yells, the cords in her neck straining. She's a mess, make-up and hair running loosely down her face. She looks like a watered-down hooker.

"No!" Julian says. "What the hell's going on? Why'd you run out like that?"

Sofia struggles to answer. "You—you did that! You ruined my prom! I am so embarrassed, I am humiliated…after all that work I put into it!"

"Wha—me?" Julian plays dumb. He needs to find out if something appears during these events to connect him as the guilty party.

"The light was coming from _your_ eyes," Sofia accuses. "You are one of those Godless, motherless freaks that I hear about." She pulls the corsage they selected together off of her dress and flings it on the ground,  
then steps on it. "May God have mercy on your soul," she says, deeply offended.

Sofia is Roman Catholic to an extreme degree. Julian doesn't believe in God whatsoever; he is an atheist, and at times finds it hard not to comment. His philosophy lies more along the principles of karma—do to others  
only what you expect to receive in return.

He's guessing that his years of high school snobbery and involvement in verbal bullying have finally caught up with him.

"Sof…what the heck are you talking about?" he asked, wincing, deciding to play the clueless role further. Maybe he could make her think she was crazy, like he had thought he was when this problem first became apparent.

In the back of his mind, he's thinking, _This is sooo fucking cool. _He is aware of an intense desire to learn more about it, to control it. It won't be a problem if he can dictate when and where he uses it.

"You know what I am saying. Just leave me alone." Sofia turns and storms off; he stands still. For some reason, he doesn't feel the need to make chase. He's indifferent, he's just discovered something new and exciting  
about himself that he wants to explore.

"I bet you're thinking this is the worst night of your life," says a voice behind him. He turns; it is the redheaded girl. Janice—Janet—Jennifer?

Something about the way she smiles sympathetically at him tells a story: she knows what is going on, she's been there. A crazy idea, perhaps, but Julian feels he knows this like she has informed him directly.

"Actually, it's not that bad," Julian said confidently.

The girl pauses, cocks her head. "Interesting. My name is Jean, by the way, so you can stop trying to pull it out of your head."

"I was close," Julian points out.

"You get an A for effort," Jean says. She purses her lips. "Have you figured it out yet?"

"What? That I'm a mutant? Yeah, I'm working my way there," Julian says. "Slowly."

Jean smiles. "Let me help you. In fact, let me spell it out." As she speaks, a stream of pebbles rises from the parking lot and form letters—a word—several words.

"Xavier's school for gifted youngsters," Julian reads. "What the hell is that called? What you're doing?"

"Telekinesis," Jean says. "You can do it too. Come on, just think about lifting a few rocks in the air. It works—you'll feel a funny give when you try."

Julian shrugs, looks at a fist-sized rock and thinks about floating it to the air to join Jean's.

The rock begins to glow—green, bright green, neon green. It suddenly shoots straight ahead and smashes through the windows of three parked cars; alarms promptly go off.

Julian starts, pale; Jean laughs. "Oops!" She says. "Never you mind…come on." She grabs his hand and pulls him back into the party.

**…**

Julian stares. He is standing outside, in the brisk autumn breeze, his eyes trained on the monster mansion that looms above him. It looks forbidding in the dim light, haloed with the leafless  
skeletons of trees. Somewhere a horror movie might take place in.

Jean Grey closes the car door behind him with a soft _whumpf! _

"You like?" she asks.

"Not bad." Julian hefts his duffle bag and follows her to the front door, watching her hips sway back and forth. The oak panels part at Jean's mental request; he is excited. Will he be able to do that too?

"Yes," Jean says. He's forgotten she can read his mind. She proved it to him, on the drive here, when she answered all his mental questions, including the background thought about whether she found him attractive or not.

"You've _got_ a girlfriend," Jean had said, looking out the window and grinning.

"Yeah, well…" Julian had been embarrassed, but the telepath had changed the topic quickly, sensing this. Jean was very easy to be around, as she did a lot of the talking, and anticipated awkward situations.

If they happened, they were almost momentary, and necessary, it seemed. In a way, she almost reminds him of Sofia—full of tact and pleasantness—but there is an edge to Jean Grey that his girl friend does  
not have. An edge of wicked fun, of clever wit that can make almost anything funny, probably partially due to the fact that Jean just reads his mind and can sense what he will laugh at.

Hell, maybe she literally goes into his mind and _makes_ him laugh. Who gives a shit.

"So this is a school, huh?" he says, overwhelmed by the lavish interior of the school. He's never been poor, never struggled; his father had been a millionaire, but his mother had been wise and conservative with  
the money. 'Nothing more than needed!' is her motto.

"Yes," Jean says, leading him down a series of hallways. They pass many doors—both closed and open—and Julian sees: an enormous coat room; a sitting room without anything but sofas, décor and windows; a  
rec room; a cafeteria; a kitchen; a library full of books; a computer room; a room full of desks for studying; a surprisingly large room that looks like an auditorium; a door that seems to be an exit; and several  
elevators. Jean leads him into one and presses a button; they are going up.

"Impressed?" she asks, smirking.

"Yeah," Julian says. "Seems like a private school. This professor guy we're going to meet…he knows my GPA sucks, right?" He hates to admit this, but with Jean, he doesn't mind. Also he'd feel pretty shitty if the  
professor spent a thirty-thousand-dollar-a-year education on him, thinking he was some kind of certifiable genius. More like a certifiable failure.

"Yes," Jean says, grinning now. "It doesn't matter. What he's interested in…is why I approached you."

"My…tele…ka…nesisis," Julian attempts.

"Telekinesis," Jean corrects with a small laugh. "You can call it TK if you can't remember."

"Right," Julian says, embarrassed.

"Or 'I can do things with my brain' works, too. Trust me…me and the Professor have heard absolutely _everything._" The elevator opens and they walk out, down yet another hallway. At the end is a heavy oak door,  
paneled and carved very intricately.

"Knock knock, sir," Jean says aloud. The doors swing open by their own accord.

_**Come in,**_ a voice says. Julian starts—it is male and he's the only guy present in the hallway. And the voice was in his head.

"The professor likes to show off," Jean says with a grin as they enter the office. "Julian…this is Professor Charles Xavier, M.A., PhD, MD and a bunch of other things I can't remember. Professor, this is Julian Keller, GPA  
of about 1.1, because he _still_ doesn't trust that you don't care about his grades."

At a heavy oak desk sits a middle-aged man. The first thing Julian notices is his thick mop of golden curls; the second is his smile is very broad. He's wearing a tweed suit, with leather elbow patches, and has square,  
black-rimmed glasses. "Hello, Julian," he says. He speaks with a heavy British accent.

"Hi," Julian says awkwardly. "Err…I like the school."

"I am pleased," Xavier says, his voice genuine. "I am also pleased to make your acquaintance."

He just _looks _at Julian for about a minute, his expression very vague and elsewhere. Then he smiles. "Ah, apologies. I was miles away. A student of mine was excitedly telling me that he believes he is on the path to  
finding a cure of cancer. He was quite loud."

Julian swallows, again feeling intimidated. _Cure for cancer?_ Hell, he is lucky he understands what cancer _is_. He'd failed the unit in school, because his Biology teacher had an impossibly heavy foreign accent, spoke fast,  
and Julian couldn't read the text as the problems had been starting around then.

"You are dyslexic," Professor Xavier says suddenly, as if his curiosity is piqued. "Recently so. Fascinating." He purses his lips. "I'd be interested in seeing an MRI of your brain, Julian. I am quite certain this problem is  
caused by your newly found telekinesis."

"I—huh?" Julian has been affronted; he's a little uncomfortable at the realization that all these other minds are invading his, slipping in and out like needles, siphoning out his thoughts and memories.

"Don't worry, Julian. I only read loudly projected thoughts—things I cannot help hearing, such as a cry for help—or things you want to say to me, in some form or another. I would never enter thoughts you didn't  
want me to hear." He pauses and eyes the girl beside Julian. "Neither would Jean. She's very ethical."

Jean smiles, and Julian doesn't trust that. He starts to wonder if they know about the accident with the teacher, but quickly covers it up with another thought, realizing they were probably listening to him_  
right now. _Given the circumstances, what better way to get him to reveal a secret than raising such trust issues?

"Anyways," the Professor says, smiling again. "It's a pleasure to meet you. I have a conference call to attend to in five minutes, and I am certain you'd like to explore the grounds more fully. We shall have a real  
appointment tomorrow, and I will register you in our system. We can go over your plans for education and establish a schedule for your ability training then." He nods, dismissively. "Have fun."

"Oh—and Jean—make sure he _does_ enjoy his stay here," the Professor says lightly. Jean nods.

**…**

"So, how do you like the Professor?" Jean asks as they walk, through the large rose garden she's described as the arboretum (a name he is never going to remember).

"He has a lot of hair," Julian says offhandedly. He's good at such comments.

"HAH!" Jean says, throwing back her head. "I know. It's so unrealistic. I can't believe he insists on projecting that…"

"What—it's not real?" Julian asks, stopping.

"Not one hair of it," Jean says with a big grin. "He's so vain about it. It was one of his personal prides, before he lost it all due to the accident, so he just 'tricks' your mind into seeing it. Except he kind of exaggerates  
how thick it used to be. No body wants to say anything to him and hurt his feelings."

"Accident?" Julian asks.

"Yeah. The spine injury that put him in the wheelchair."

"…wheelchair?" Julian is bewildered at how much he'd failed to miss.

"It's compact. The desk hides it…that's why he's always sitting behind it when you walk in. It also makes him look very studious. He is 'the Professor', after all." She winks at him. "By the way, I should tell you that all  
us X-kids have a meeting tomorrow, at nine o' clock, behind the school on the lawn. There will be a black outfit hanging in your closet; put it on and join us."

"I don't do clubs," Julian says, smirking slightly. "I play football, bully weaklings and date the cheerleading squad till I decide who's hottest." He's exaggerated slightly, but it's basically true.

"I see." Jean rolls her eyes. "Well, this one's mandatory. And I lead the club. Xavier calls us X-men, and we carry out school do-gooder assignments, which we receive marks for. It's a great way to boost a failing GPA,  
you know." She's appealed to Julian in a way he finds difficult to argue.

"I'm not about to stand in a soup kitchen so I can pretend I'm smart," he says. "That sounds dorky."

"Who said anything about soup kitchens?" Jean asks. "We've got powers…let's use 'em."

Julian blinks. "Like super heroes?" he asks.

"Kind of. We find people who need help—suicide cases, terrorist threats, thefts, domestic violence—and break it up."

"Okay—but the outfits?" he asks.

"Mandatory too. If we get arrested, it's easier for Xavier to protect us legally. The material also has a DNA concealer, and shields us from scanning. There's a bunch of stuff out there that makes it unsafe to be a  
mutant these days." She pauses. "They're designed by our resident fashion expert, Ro Munroe."

"I see," Julian says. "I'm still gonna give a maybe. I might show up tomorrow, but…"

"I'll be there to boss you around," Jean reminds him with a wink.

"Well…at least tomorrow," Julian acquiesces. "Xavier's sure is weird."

**…**

Julian sits on the bed, fiddling with the corner of a receipt, his cell phone pressed up against his ear. A few moments ago, he'd pressed speed dial 1, and it had dialed Sofia's number. He'd paused for  
a moment before hitting '_Send'. _

After about seven rings, it goes to voicemail. He knows she's heard it, though, and he's not about to give up. On the third call, she answers.

"Hi," he says.

Silence.

"Look, last night—"

"No. There is nothing you can say." Sofia sounds like she's been crying, hard. Her voice is tired and trembles slightly; she sniffles, every now and then.

"I really don't know what you were on about," Julian says. "You sounded crazy for a bit. It's okay…I _know_ you were under a lot of stress recently. Why don't we just forget it, and go on?"

More silence. Then…"Yes, forget it. Move on." She pauses. "We're through."

"Over a stupid thing like that?" he asks. "I didn't even know what you were accusing me of, sweetheart."

"You _know_ what you did," Sofia says, her voice full of venom. "Yes, Julian. No more. Find someone else."

"But I don't _want _anyone else," Julian says.

"I do. In fact, I've already had them. Last night…I went back to the party. I saw you leave with that other girl…and I thought, why should you be the only one having fun?"

Julian blinks. This is hard. "Look—Sof—I'm hurt you would think _that. _And, jeez, you just did that without _asking_ me? Who—"

"It's none of your business." Pause. "Goodbye, Julian. It was nice knowing you."

Julian bristles. "Alright, then. Whatever. You had your chance."

Sofia hangs up on him; he throws his cell across the room and then lies on the bed, holding his face in his hands for a while. Then he gets up, crosses the room and opens the cupboard to look at the  
outfit hanging inside, thinking.

**…**

Nine o clock the next day finds Julian descending the big, long staircase from his luxury suite, yawning and stretching in his new outfit. It is the weirdest garment he's ever worn; at first he'd been mortified by  
the fact that it was latex and would outline every curve. He'd considered not going. Then he'd looked in the mirror and realized all his football had paid off; he'd probably be the best looking guy there.

Which was important, now that Sofia has declared war.

Whistling, he'd gelled his hair and slammed the door of the hard-wood floored, Persian carpeted, Louis XV furniture (including a four poster bed) lined room, then made his way outside.

He opens the exit door he'd seen the other day and blinks at the bright sunlight. A butterfly passes him as he walks out; on the lawn ahead, he can see there are several students in similar outfits  
standing around, looking awkward.

_Three girls, two guys, hell yeah, _he thinks. One of them won't even be competition; he is possibly the ugliest guy that Julian's ever seen. He looks like a orangutan, except bald everywhere but his head, which  
is covered by a thick black ponytail. He has glasses that look way too small on his nose.

The other guy is fairly good looking. He might be an obstacle, if one of the girls likes him (which they no doubt do). The first thing Julian notices about him is that he has two enormous white wings sprouting out  
of his back. Wings. He looks somewhat like the angels that were depicted in Sofia's household.

And then the girls. One is Jean, of course; the second one has dark, dark skin and shockingly bright white hair (plus a perfect figure); the third is pretty, too, with chestnut hair that falls down her back in gentle  
waves. When she turns around to eye him, he notes that she has a sour expression, and also that she is covered almost head-to-toe in the mandatory garment. Too bad, because from what he can see she's got curves to kill for.

"Julian," Jean smiles. She's holding a clipboard and a pen; her outfit is cut quite small. A sports bra and hot pants, basically; also opera gloves and knee-high yellow boots.

"I'm here," Julian states the obvious. "Can I go now?"

"Not just yet. I need you to sign a waiver…" Jean riffles through the pages on the clip board and pulls out a form he will later regret signing. "Put your John Hancock here." She points to the signature line, then the  
paper floats over to him, along with the pen.

Julian signs it in the air, surprised that her thought alone is enough to support the paper like a desk.

"Great. That's a little ditty saying you won't sue us if we break you. " She smiles, distracting him from her words.

Julian thinks something dirty at her. _I'd like to put it somewhere else. _Jean keeps smiling, and he takes it that she is interested and probably aware that he's no longer tied to another girl.

"This is Julian Keller," Jean announces to everyone. "He's going to be training with us. On that note…let's begin with our official introductions, in alphabetical order. Ok…I'm first. So I'm Jean Grey…the Professor  
suggested I be nicknamed 'Pscion'. Not sure I agree, but I'll give it a try. I'm a native New Yorker, I like video games, sports and movies. Also, I have a lot of mind powers—I can read them, and I can move things  
with mine. The Professor says I'm a telepathic telekinetic. Next…Julian?" She smiles. "Just a few words, like I did."

"Er," Julian says, unprepared. He thinks for a second. "You know my name. I have no idea why the heck Xavier nicknames you guys, maybe he's helping the bullies out. Uh….I'm from New York. I like sports…and  
apparently I'm a tele…I can move things with my brain," he finishes lamely.

"Good. Hank?"

"I'm Hank McCoy." He pauses, seeing Julian's look. The McCoys are _billionaires, _self-made. Geniuses. They own a pharmaceutical company chain that is spread all over the states. If so, Hank has probably already  
attended Harvard, or whatever the expensive scientific equivalent of it is. "Yes, _those_ McCoys. The Professor wants to name me Beast for obvious reasons, but I'm against this and am taking it up with him. I'm from  
Seattle, and I have a passion for all things science. My abilities are DNA based, obviously physical; I have enhanced agility, strength and dexterity."

Julian considers him. He is probably right; with that structure he's got to be a million times stronger and more flexible than the other kids here, maybe even him.

"Great. Marian?"

"My name is Marian McDermott," says the sour-looking girl with the brown hair. Marian folds her latex-coated arms, her frown deepening. Her accent is unmistakably Irish. "Th' Professor been suggesting I go by  
Rogue. I hail from Dublin, Ireland…an' I find your country very strange a' times. I like some music…and as for m' powers, dunna touch me, or you'll be sorry."

"Marian absorbs you on skin-to-skin contact, temporarily," Jean says. "It's a weird feeling. Ro?"

She's speaking to the other girl, the tall, obviously African one. Ro looks at him with venom, as if she will rip his head off if he attempts to talk to her.

_Jeez, _he thinks.

"My name eez Ororo Munroe," she says, and her accent is so thick Julian can barely understand her. "I comes from South Africa. I eez Zulu. I trying learn Eeenglish, not so good now. I…" she makes a gesture  
at the sky; the clouds above her darken, and sparks of electricity crack over their heads.

"Good, Ro!" Jean says, uneasily looking at the storm cloud. Will it hit them? Has Ro learned to control her powers enough to prevent it? "Now for our resident redneck…Warren?"

"Shut up!" the angel-guy says playfully, his voice tapered in a heavy southern drawl. "Mah name's Warren, but you kin call me War. Ah come from Pleasureville, Kentuckeh…ah likes t' play guitar, an' fish in th' crick  
when th' urge hits. Ah think what ah can do is obvious. Oh yeah, an' big surprise, th' Professah wants t' call meh Angel."

"Awesome! Now, I'll explain how things work at Xavier's…"


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: **WARNING- This chapter contains explicit, graphical, extreme violence. You have been warned.

* * *

**-5-  
**

* * *

The man seated in the chair with the gleaming wheels stares into the flames, his expression distant. On his lap is a dark brown cat, with a tan-colored, diamond-shaped patch on its head. It purrs softly as he rubs  
behind its ears with practiced fingers.

"Clones," he murmurs softly. "Intriguing…"

Behind him a throat clears; without looking he raises his hand and crooks his finger for the source to come closer. "Homework problems, Julian?" the man asks in a pleasant voice.

_Crinkle, _the paper shifting hands. "Yeah. No. Sir, I need to talk to you."

Footsteps; Julian moves closer. He seemed nervous. "I need to tell you that I've made a mistake. By coming here. I can't even _read_ the homework. I should be looking for a job."

"Ah." The Professor smiles and strokes his cat. "If you relax, I help you with that. Just let your mind go blank."

"Why?" Julian asks suspiciously.

"I'll try to shift some of your brain matter, telepathically and telekinetically. If that tumor doesn't press on your lobe so much, you should be able to read just fine."

"…Tumor?" Julian asks, freezing inside.

"Oh, yes. Your telekinesis is basically a tumor in your brain, Julian. Don't worry; it's not cancerous, and it won't cause you to die. It just need a little more room."

"…" Julian finds it hard to relax.

"It will not hurt…there you go, relax," the Professor says. Julian feels strange—a tickle in his head—his vision blurs for a moment, then resettles—and then doesn't feel different at all.

"Here. Try reading it now," the Professor says.

Julian blinks at the paper. _English 0982/0992 practice exam. Read the following essay and then answer the questions. _**FEAR OF SPIDERS** _by Anne Moore. 'One dark and rainy night, Arlene…_

"Holy shit," he says.

"You're quite welcome," the Professor murmurs vaguely. He looks lost in thought again.

"Thanks," Julian says, hesitates, then asks: "What are you thinking about?"

The Professor looks up at Julian, as if surprised he is still there. "Oh. I am thinking ofsome students I am debating on bringing to the school."

"Cool," Julian says. He pauses a moments. "Girls?"

The Professor smiles indulgently. "A girl, and a boy. They are twins…fascinatingly they are identical twins, which rarely occurs in nature."

"Oh." Julian has nothing to say about this, having failed that in Biology too.

"Let me ponder you this," the Professor says suddenly. "I have a moral dilemma. The prospective students are desperately in need of assistance right now…assistance I could provide. But I do not know if I can  
trust them, for reasons I prefer not to disclose. Do you think they would bite the hand that feeds?"

Julian frowns. "I don't know, sir. My general rule is if a girl needs help…give it. You're more likely to—" he thinks how to word the rest, "—get her gratitude."

The Professor chuckles. "Wise words indeed, although I believe your idea of gratitude greatly differs from mine, Julian." He pauses. "Yes, I think we will help them."

A few minutes later Julian hears a summons in his head, from Jean.

**…**

"NOOOO!" Laura screams as they drag Jim's prone form away. Kimura's holding her arms behind her back, and kick and bite and struggle as she may, she's not budging.

"Wait your turn," Kimura whispers.

Laura head-butts her; Kimura laughs.

The procedure—the fear that had been instilled as a horror story since they were five—a reason to behave—was coming horribly true. Jim was going to be dissected, his tissue scraped from his bones, and metal was  
going to be poured over the natural surfaces.

He might not survive. They had both had enough trouble with the claws being coated at the age of eight.

"Now…I know the surgeon's busy with your brother…but that's no reason we can't get started," Kimura rasps in her ear, then grabs it between her teeth and rips it off. Laura twists her head in pure agony.

Kimura uses her incapacitation, dragging her over to the gurney awaiting her and hefting her onto it like a sack of potatoes. "NNNGGGHHNN!" Laura struggles, but each limb is captured and secured in the metal  
bracers. Kimura pulls out her buck knife—the hated one with the ivory and mother-of-pearl handle—and kiss it lovingly.

"Let's have a look under the hood, shall we?" she says cheerfully, twirling the knife. It comes down on Laura's stomach, and she lets lose a scream, a tortured scream, the kind a person makes when they are being  
dehumanized, butchered. A live autopsy. The knife runs up through her torso, then hits her sternum with a dull _thud! _Kimura grunts, wiggles it, then it continues up to between Laura's collarbones.

"Quick," Kimura instructs. Hands appear on either side of Laura and reach in to the cut—which hasn't had time to heal—_and pull her apart. _Laura tries to lose consciousness, struggling like a mouse caught in a trap. The pain  
has never been so bad. Her organs glisten in the harsh, clinical lights, pulsing and almost begging to escape. Kimura reaches down with her knife and nudges Laura's heart.

"Too bad I can't have fun. I'll have to remember this…pretty nifty way to teach you a lesson, X," she says. "You can't hold it like that forever," she says to the men that are gripping Laura open; double-ended hooks appear  
in Kimura's hands, and she works them into the parted flesh on one side, and the other hooks onto a ridge around the bed.

Kimura reaches in to Laura's gaping body cavity and begins to make scraping noises. Laura isn't human anymore, so she can't tell what's happening.

**…**

"This is pretty cool," Julian murmurs, looking out the window of the jet plane to the sparkling city lights below. "How fast did you say this thing could go?"

"The speed of sound," Jean says, tilting the steering yoke. She is in the pilot's seat, beside Hank; Julian is sitting behind the latter so he can see Jean's profile. "By the Professor's description of these poor kids, that's  
a good thing." Her expression is grim. She'd only mentioned that they were saving twin mutants from an experiment place.

Julian wonders what will happen.

Twenty minutes later, the jet begins to descend. "The facility is underground. We'll access it through the Main street sewers."

"Oh, hell no," Julian said. "No sewers."

"This isn't up for debate," Jean says, her voice surprisingly strong as iron. Julian feels his arguments fade, and briefly wonders if she did something telepathic to him.

"I hate flying," Marian mumbles in the back.

It takes them another ten minutes to find the sewers. Everyone clambers down the ladder and into the tunnels, trying to breath through their mouth. It _stinks. _Julian pinches his nose closed with his  
fingers. _The girl better be smokin' hot, _he thinks venomously, feeling like vomiting. The smell of shit is so heavy that he can actually _taste_ it as he breathes through his mouth.

Jean leads them down the tunnel, the greenish-brown muck flowing like a sick river on the side. "The Professor is sending me directions," she says. "Two lefts and a right, and we'll come to a rock outcropping on the wall. Look for an X…"

Half an hour later, they are stepping into a long passageway after Jean. It is lined with smooth steel plates on all sides, and the lighting is fluorescent and dim.

"Why isn't the place going crazy with alarms?" Julian murmurs.

"They're silent," Jean whispers back. The hallway takes a turn after about five minutes, and they come face to face with men carrying guns. Army.

"Whoa, whoa—I didn't sign up for this!" Julian says angrily.

"Shut up and help me shield us!" Jean orders. She's straining in the direction of the armed men as they run towards her; they fire their weapons.

_**PTPTPTPTPTPTPTPTPTPTPT**_

Julian's never heard gunfire before, much less machine gun fire. He thinks he might piss his pants. By some miracle he doesn't, mainly because the bullets are freezing in midair and bouncing off. Jean is stopping them somehow.

"_AHHHH!_" Marian screams as a man swoops behind them and locks her in a bear hug. She can't reach him with her skin, even if she wanted to. The man has a knife to her throat, he's about to slit it. Julian panics;  
green sparks—and then swirls—leave him, and the knife flies out of the man's hand and into the steel wall behind him so fast that it imbeds up to the hilt.

"Let her go!" Julian shouts, then football tackles the guy, even though he's armed. A few scuffles in the alleyways have at least taught him how to get around in a fight; he uses his forehead to break the man's nose. The soldier reaches  
up to clutch at it, his eyes automatically watering; that is when Julian's knee hits him in the nuts, and he's down for the count.

"Thanks," Marian mumbled. "Couldnae reach him, bundled up as I am."

"I'm used to team play," Julian says, feeling awkward for being thanked.

The corridor fills with electricity as Ro goes to work. In less than five seconds, the opponents are down, and only Hank has felt any ill effects, suffering from singed hair.

"Nice, Storm!" Jean says enthusiastically, sweeping a body out of her way with her mind. "Let's—"

"Are they dead?" Julian asks, raising an eyebrow.

"Yes, and why not?" Ro asks, looking fierce. Like she will kill _him_if he has a problem with it.

"No, they're not. Just unconscious. They're all still on the mental grid," Jean placates. "Come on…I read a few of these guys. They're extra security, because something _big_ is going down tonight, involving the kids we're supposed to pick up.

**…**

"_**JESUS!**_" Julian yells, having stumbled into a room containing lab equipment—and a lot of blood.

He can't believe what he's seeing. There is—there is a girl on the gurney—and she's open, gutted like a pig, some of her insides hanging out. It's all slimy, with vivid reds, and pinks, and browns, and yellow-greens. Something coils out of  
her abdomen; her intestines, like a lumpy worm. There's a heart there, pulsating frequently, and to either side of the opened ribcage hangs a yellow lump of fat he realizes are her breasts, no longer held together by her skin.

Wait a second. Her heart is _pumping…_she's…alive.

He throws up, in his mouth.

A woman is standing ahead of him with a dripping buck knife. She has dark skin, lose hair, and is beautiful, but she looks pissed. "I hate being interrupted. You come in here just to puke?"

Julian's shaking hand wipes his chin, which is dripping.

"Tell me the vomit is at least acidic or something…otherwise, honey…" she twirls the knife and grins, "…you're fucked."

He is coming at the knife—or, rather, the knife is coming at him. _**CHOCK! **_The flesh on his shoulder parting as the knife penetrates it, creating a hole in his body that wasn't there before. He grits his teeth and makes a low noise,  
tries to bat the woman away.

She's not going anywhere.

"This might hurt a bit. Or a lot." The knife presses ever inward; she's grabbing his hair, forcing his head back. He can't fight it. As the knife travels downwards and diagonal, towards his heart—snapping a rib, another rib, on its  
path—he doesn't even think of stopping her.

"NNYEARGH!" Julian yells, thinking about how he wants to make _her_ explode, too, like the girl on the table. Inside out. It's a fleeting but powerful thought, brought up by venomous hatred towards anyone who could _do _such a thing.

She's so sick, she shouldn't exist.

_**KA-BLOOOM!**_

Julian takes a breath, and then another, through the mist of blood and bodily functions. He's just been coated in someone's insides. The woman's. She's on the floor, not moving; he's gone numb with shock.

Almost automatically, he claps his other hand against the gushing slash in his shoulder.

"….p-pleazzz…z…." from the gurney. He doesn't want to look. He'd come in here, having gotten separated from the team when he took a wrong turn. The corridors had been quiet, as everyone else had gone to defend the base. Everyone except…

"…p-plz..." Pitiful, tiny, almost lost in the room and his shock. He slowly turns towards her. She shouldn't have to die alone, whoever she is. He can at least hold her hand. As disgusting as it is.

Close up, she's even more repulsive. Her skin is yellow and a little greenish, her face murky with bloody streaks and grimy with tears. He tries to look at her face rather than the horrible mess of her body.

"You're pretty," he hears himself saying, even though he thinks she is the ugliest, most repulsive horror he's ever had the misfortune to look upon. He reaches out to her face and touches her cheek, lightly; this adds more blood to the mix, his blood.

For her sake, he hopes she will die soon.

Then she shakes her head. "…p-pleazzz…p-put it b-back..."

He can see her lungs within her upper ribs as they expand and contract at her speech. Julian almost throws up again; he tries his best not to, because adding vomit to her insides can't be a good idea. "I can't. I could put a sheet over you."

"N-no. P-put b-back…I-I heal…" her teeth are clenched together, and he sees she is shaking. He's amazed she can talk at all. He himself finds it hard to think when his shoulder throbs.

Julian can't bring himself to touch the slimy organs and opened lower ribcage, to pull the flabs of fat back in place. He struggles. The wishes of a dying girl versus the horror of touching her.

He suddenly comes up with a convenient solution. He can do it mentally. Maybe.

Julian concentrates. The thought of _touching _the decrepit flesh seems to be a worthy fuel for his powers; the innards slide back inside the body like a snake, making a sickening _plop plop _sound as they do so. He notes large double  
ended hooks holding her open, like the fetal pig they'd dissected at the end of Biology 12. He turns away quickly and heaves again, the rest of his dinner, wipes his mouth on his glove, then reaches for the hook nearest him.

It comes out with a sickening crack, and the girl makes a shrill, animalistic noise of pain. But it is out. He proceeds with the other side, then shoves the two halves of her torso together with one hand so the autopsy is closed, albeit very sloppily.

Julian stands back, holding his shoulder again. It's burning steadily now, and more blood is oozing from the wound.

This is more important though. She'll die, any second now.

"I'm sorry," he says gently. He takes her hand very lightly.

"…" The girl's eyes slide half shut. She's gone. He turns to go; the hand clamps down on his with surprising strength. "W-wait. Keys. Kimura…woman on floor."

"I am _not_ touching that," Julian blurts. The woman now in an even worse state than the girl on the gurney. She is a mess, one he's made, and he's too in shock to process it. "Not with a ten-foot pole."

"P-please. Keys. On her belt." She gulps air. Julian nudges the woman with his boot; sure enough, he hears keys shift. A minute later he is holding them in his hand and inserting a key into each of the girl's bindings  
until he hears the mechanism lick. She sits up immediately.

"Wha—" Julian is confused, having just seen her with an open ribcage; instead now her skin is sealed together, only an angry red scar remaining down her center. The girl rubs her wrists.

"I heal,' the girl says. A second later she is pressed up against him, and he can't breathe. He wonders why, in his shock. Oh. She's kissing him, quite fiercely; he pries her off with his good hand. "What the hell?" he pants,  
wiping his mouth on his glove (the clean one).

"You s-saved me," the girl says, her eyes still glazed with shock, looking at him with the fire of devotion.

She says three words that rock his world, in a bad way. "I _love_you."

"Holy _fuck_," Julian says, wondering what the hell he's gotten himself into. It's all a blur. All he knows is that two days ago, he was writing his high school exams and thinking of what trade skill he wanted to try; the next, he is  
standing in a room with a woman he's made explode (as if she had swallowed a grenade), his shoulder bleeding and feeling like it's on fire, and a girl he's never met before (but he's seen her insides), naked on the gurney  
and covered in red lines, basically declaring she's somehow attached herself to him in a weird form of transference.

"Just…no," Julian says.

"But—" the girl looks confused.

"Here…since you decided to live…" Julian is confused by this, but he shrugs off his jacket—taking care around his shoulder—and deposits it on her shoulders. He needs a new one anyway.

"…thanks…" the girl mumbles, now shivering. She looks down, her eyebrows drawn together. "MY BROTHER!" she yells suddenly.

"Uhh—" Julian is afraid she means _him_, but the girl jumps off the gurney, zipping up the jacket. It falls down to her upper thighs.

"They got Jim," she explains, as if he will know who Jim is. "They're cutting him open…like me…we have to find him, _now._" She turns and heads for the door.

"Uhh—" Julian says. "Hello? Weren't you supposed to _die?_"

She pauses, casts a glance at him. "Do you _want_ me to?" she asks pointedly. She appears to be in shock, still, but her eyes are full of lucidity. Whatever they are doing to her brother is so terrible that she is forcing herself through the shock.

"No…" Julian steps over the body of the woman. "Alright…let's find your brother. But you owe me an explanation."

She says nothing.

**…**

They find the boy—the girl's twin brother—in a similar state; except he is not lying open. His skin is lined with angry red marks and sutures; every inch of him. He has no hair; his scalp has stitches around the perimeter, where it had  
been removed. Almost a hundred million cords and tubes are secured in the poor guy's hide, and he has a breathing mask on, presumably because of the tank filled with water that he is floating in.

Julian feels the urge to barf again, but there's nothing left. Just water. He watches the girl as she presses her fingers to the tank, her breath fogging up the glass.

"Jim…no, no, nonono…" she says, her eyebrows drawing together. "NO!"

Julian isn't prepared for her next actions.

_**SNKKT! **_Two knives burst out from her knuckles, emerging to a length of about half a foot. In almost the same moment, she swipes them through the glass—which shatters with a deafening _**TINKLE!**_

Julian covers his face as the glass flies; she hacks away at the remaining sides.

Water pours out, and the girl is now on the podium of the tube, holding her brother upright. She swipes her claws through the cords connecting him to the system; his eyes spring open and he makes a choking sound. The  
girl then pries the mask off his face and chucks it to the side (nearly hitting Julian).

"….nn…" the brother's eyes roll back.

"Jim, don't pass out! FUCK! Help me, he's heavy!" the girl is shouting now to Julian, who jumps up to help her. "Look…I've got him…you're not in _any_ condition to carry stuff," he says, propping her unconscious brother against his good shoulder.

"Are you sure you can lift him?" the girl asks.

"Babe, I used to play football," Julian says confidently. Then he actually _tries _lifting her brother, and his eyes widen. He's fucking heavy! At least three bills, maybe more! His shoulder gives a twang of pain that nearly knocks him flat. He waits  
a moment for it to subside. "…Errr…I got it…" Julian puts all he has into it; he manages two feet, then has to set him down. "Yeah, help me," he admits, panting.

The girl grabs the other arm and hefts; they drag the unconscious boy out of the room together, Julian trying to remember how they got here, and trying very hard not to pass out.

Eventually they reconnect with the others—who have been caught up with fighting security personnel and had gone the wrong way, finding only offices and empty lab rooms.

"Got 'em," Julian says as they approach. Jean breaks into a wide smile. "I'll take the load from here," she says, and something pulls the boy from their grasp.

"NO!" the girl shouts, her voice broken.

"It's okay, she's just going to carry him," Julian says. Suddenly there is no longer the brother between him, and he regrets it. His good arm is grabbed by the girl—so tightly he wonders if it's getting blood anymore—she leans her weight  
against him—and she lays her head on his shoulder, her hair covering her face. "I'm _so_ tired," she moans.

She's letting the situation overtake her. Letting go. Julian stiffens, feeling awkward, and without meaning to catches Jean's eye. She's obviously analyzing this action; she can see what's going on.

_Help me, _he thinks desperately, hoping Jean will hear him.

"Come on, let's get back to the jet," Jean says. "You've had a long day, hun—you look like you need a shower, a change of clothes, and a nice long sleep. And _you _need medical attention." This last part is directed to the still-bleeding Julian.

The girl is silent and unmoving, except for the rise and fall of her ribcage. He can feel her eyelashes brushing the thin coating of latex on his shoulder; the fabric is suspiciously wet.

He thinks about how he will pack his bags he second they get back to the mansion. Fuck _this. _He didn't sign up to be—whatever this is. Some kind of welfare worker?

Jean doesn't say anything, so he assumes she hasn't read his mind.

"Let's go," he says to the girl, awkwardly, tugging his arm a bit. Her grip tightens, but she nods slightly.


	6. Chapter 6

**-6-**

* * *

Back at the mansion, Julian literally grabs things off the shelves of his wardrobe and stuffs them into his duffel bag, with his good arm. His latex suit is laid out on the bed, along with a quick note about how he's sorry but this kind of lifestyle is not for him. Short and sweet.

There is a sound at the door. He looks up from where he's refolding a sweater; it's the _girl._

Fuck, fuck,

fuck_! _He thinks in panic. During and after leaving the facility, she had clung to his arm the whole way, and latched herself onto him in the jet, practically sitting half-way over his lap. She hadn't even let go when Jean had fixed his shoulder, using a combination of powers, cutting-edge technology, and bandages (not to mention painkillers).

Everyone had been mildly uncomfortable with the girl's behavior. Marian kept giving her distasteful glances. After the ride, Jean had to physically pry the girl off Julian's arm, reassuring her firmly that she could talk to him later (he _hates_ Jean for this indiscretion). Marian had asked him then if he'd known her from before, and when Julian had said 'I've never seen her before in my _life_," she had pursed her lips in distaste.

That's been the least of his worries. For the past several hours, his mind has been racing with the idea of being responsible for _another _death. And the girl, lying open on the stretcher…he tried not to think about that. It was too horrible.

"You're leaving?" she asks now. She's cleaner; she's wearing a grey sweater that is too small for her, and a plaid skirt, both from Jean. Her hair is combed now, but still long, and partially covering one of her eyes. She looks like someone who has been groomed by someone else—but doesn't personally care about her own maintenance.

"Yup," he says. Better to be straight with her.

"Why?" She's leaning on his door frame watching him.

"A bunch of reasons. Today was the clincher."

The girl folds her arms. "Bet I could make you change your mind."

Julian glances at her. "Oh yeah?" he asks idly. _Nothing _can change his mind. He is getting the fuck out of this hell-hole before he leaves in a body bag. He directs his attention to his duffel bag; for about a minute the girl is quiet. Then…

"Yeah," she says. "See, I still want to thank you for saving me. Properly."

He stops, looks at her again. "Look—you don't owe me anything. Whatever you feel…that was a crazy, _crazy _situation. You'd love _anyone_ who got you out of that."

The girl smiles, a slow smile that spreads over her face. Kind of magnetic. "I didn't say I owe you, did I? I said I _want_ to."

Julian is still deciding what this comment means when he realizes she's moved to right in front of him, a few feet away—no, maybe a foot. She's running a finger down his stomach, quite provocatively, and the hairs raise on the back of his neck. Along with other stuff.

Her green eyes are large, and luminous. Fringed with thick lashes.

She tilts her head. Is she _smelling _him? _Snff, snff, snuff. _"Hmm. You haven't had any in a while, have you?" she asks, like she's talking to a baby. Or a puppy.

The way she's standing emphasizes her curves, which are probably the best he's seen. He forgets all about seeing her on the gurney and wonders what she looks like without that sweater.

"Umm," he says, thinking. His mind is suddenly unresponsive.

"Wouldn't you _like _it?" she asks.

Julian thinks, then nods. To hell with whatever he had wanted to say; her idea is better.

"That's a good boy," she coos, and he realizes they are backing up a bit, towards the bed. He realizes this is going to happen, and somehow he knows that she's going to be fantastic, and exactly what he'd thought he needed to get over…whatever her name was. Julian feels every thin-skinned area in his body, including his scalp, tingling in anticipation.

"W-what's your name?" he asks, as she pushes him down into a sitting position on the edge of his bed.

"You don't need to know," she murmurs. She takes his hand, then guides it towards the bottom of her skirt; he stiffens, completely alert. She's moving so slow that he's almost ready to throw her on the bed beside him and have his way with her, roughly.

Just as he is about to do so, there is a knock at the door. He turns his head, ready to kill whoever it is; it's Jean, with raised eyebrows.

"Not interrupting anything, am I?" she asks.

"_YES,_" Julian says, at the same time the girl says "No."

"Okay," Jean says. "Laura, the Professor wants to see you. Julian…a word?"

"Can it wait five minutes?" Julian asks, frustrated.

"No, it's pretty important."

The girl leaves, and he watches her all the way out, noting how her bottom sways when she walks. _Later,_ he thinks, like a promise; he has a hard time not yelling at Jean.

"Alright. Here…I'm going to clear these _pheromones _out of your system," Jean says; a second later he snaps into focus, like he'd been watching the room through a heavy veil of smoke and had just emerged.

"Wha—" he begins to ask.

"Pheromones," Jean says. "You do realize you were about to do the nasty with her?"

"Huh?" Julian is confused. Then he remembers. "Holy crap," he says.

"Yeah. It's a kind of mind control, through chemical emission."

Julian raises his eyebrows. "Isn't that _wrong?" _

"Sure. But Laura doesn't know she's doing it. You see… she's a feral mutant. Her abilities include super-fast healing, heightened senses like taste, smell and sight, and some attributes like speed, agility and ease at climbing. And the claws, of course."

"I figured," Julian says, having seen all this powers demonstrated, except for her senses. Which _did_ seem a little uncanny. Especially the smelling.

"Well, she's a girl, and girls have cycles," Jean says.

"Stop. I don't want to hear about _that_," Julian sneers.

"Not menstruation. I mean, Laura has some feline characteristics..."

Julian's eyebrows draw together in confusion. Jean sighs, seeing she'll have to explain.

"She goes into heat, just like a cat. Unfortunately, you managed to start this transference thing at a _bad_time. She can't really be held accountable for anything she might do or say to you, for a few days. Especially considering the trauma she's been through."

Julian digests this for a moment. "So…this happens how often?"

"Once a month," Jean says. "When she's ovulating. From what Hank could predict. He's just up in a tizzie about the twins' genetic make-up. He's never seen _anything_like it."

"How's her brother doing?" Julian asks.

"He's still unconscious, but stable. He's had a big shock—they lined his bones with metal, to make them more durable. Poor guy," Jean says. "Hank thinks he'll make it, because of his healing factor. I wonder what he's like."

Julian has a sudden sense. Jean _likes_this new comer, a lot. He feels a bit competitive, but can't really say anything, based on what the guy's been through.

"You're leaving?" Jean asks suddenly, noticing the half-packed bag.

"Err—yeah," Julian says, remembering. "This is a bit too much for me to handle. I don't think I'll ever be able to forget what I saw at that place…"

"And you _shouldn't_," Jean says fiercely. "Never forget what humans are capable of. You go out there, you're likely to be doing what that girl was. Yeah, you killed someone…but it was self-defense, Julian. She was a monster. _I_ might have done it, if I would have been in the same boat. And I _know_ how my powers work—how careful you have to be to control your thoughts. You didn't _mean_ it, it was an accident. Who could blame you for being _angry_ at what you saw?"

Julian thinks. "Yeah, but—"

"Please stay. Give this another chance. You need us…and we need _you._I'll help you master your telekinesis, so you don't have to be afraid of it." She pauses. "And I think there's someone here who wants to get to know you better, a lot better. Well, besides myself." She smiles. "Just give us time. I'll help you, like I said…and I'll keep an eye on Laura until this thing passes. I'll pop around whenever you need a hand."

Julian wavers. "Okay," he says reluctantly.

Jean smiles and winks. "That-a-boy," she says.

**…**

The next few days are a little better for Julian. There are no more philanthropist missions, no one tries to kill him (and he doesn't kill anyone), and his shoulder stops hurting so he can actually use his arm again.

To distract himself from his somewhat painful thoughts of Sofia, he spends most of the time reading—amazed that he is able to _do_ that again (and reminded of a huge favor Xavier has done him)—and playing video games, both on his computer and in the rec room. He also spends some time talking to a few of the friendlier residents of the mansion. Except for Jean, Warren and Hank are the easiest to talk with, both boasting friendly natures. Marian always seems like she's in a bad mood, but is not overtly rude; he takes it her powers make her grumpy. Ororo continues to scare him, her eyes flashing murder every time he has the misfortune of passing her in the hall.

Jim remains unconscious. And Laura…he has two more confrontations.

The first happens when he makes the mistake of staying up late and gaming in the rec room. The mansion is quiet, except for the breathing of its sleeping residents and the noise of his game (_Left 4 Dead 2, _and he finds himself comparing the gore he's seen with the zombies).

He gets up to grab a snack, thinking of a bag of chips, or something. Then he starts; there is a flash in the darkness beyond. Two flashes, actually. Eyes. The lights flip on—because he'd thought of it—and reveal the girl, Laura, leaning against the edge of the wall.

"Uh…hi," he says, a little awkwardly. Jean's asleep, and he's thought more about what he would do if Laura tried again. If she doesn't know she's doing it, then he shouldn't give in.

She doesn't answer, just takes a deep breath in. And smiles. Julian tries to slip past her quickly, and her hand clamps down on his forearm.

"Wait," she says.

Julian tries to free his arm; she moves closer. "There's a couch. Right there," she whispers.

"Please let go of me." Julian wavers; he's starting to feel the effects of whatever she's doing. A minute passes; he finds himself considering carrying her to the couch and ripping her clothes off.

"You'll enjoy it," she says. "Let's stop wasting time with these games."

"Let _go!_" Julian snaps, trying to shake his arm free. She's got an incredibly strong grip. Suddenly she _does _let go—amidst a flash of light in the dark, from his powers. He notes he'd felt cornered enough to use them without meaning to.

"But—" she says. Julian flees into the darkness, towards his bedroom, and moves his dresser in front of the door.

The second time is in the cafeteria, the next day. He's sitting on a bench, having lunch with Warren; they are talking about cars. Laura enters the room and walks past him, carrying a tray. She passes a few times, then sits down beside him and starts moving things around her tray, in preparation to eat.

"Damn," Warren says, apparently catching a whiff of the same pheromones currently starting to work on Julian. "Ain't that a piece of fine?"

Julian has been staring at his plate, trying not to admit he's thinking about clearing the table and doing her right there, even in public. Having already been attuned to whatever she's secreting, it had begun working on him the moment she'd entered the cafeteria. Now she's _sitting_ right beside him, her leg brushing his, and her hands within his range of vision, hands that should be on him instead…

"She's _mine,_so back off," Julian snaps. Despite the fact that for the last half hour they've been having a pleasant conversation and making buddies. He puts a hand on the small of her back, and she looks up at him slightly, demurely, encouraging his behavior.

"She ain't said _nothin'_ bout you ownin' her," Warren accuses. "I think y' outta let someone else have a go."

"I'm done with lunch," Julian announces, despite the fact that his plate is three-quarters full. He takes Laura's hand—ignoring the fact that there is a fork in it—wraps it around his neck—then lifts her up, carries her across the cafeteria towards the entrance.

Jean is standing there, smiling. "Laura, can I show you something downstairs?" she asks.

"_NO,"_Julian says, but Laura says "Okay,"

He struggles with the impulse to punch Jean, then lets the girl down. Jean puts her hand on Laura's shoulder, taps Julian on his temple, then leads the other girl down the hall.

"Jesus Christ," he says, stumbling slightly as his head clears.

…

It is now 1 AM, that night.

"Jim, we're in," Laura whispers.

She's at her brother's bedside, holding his hand, late at night. Jim has one eyelid open. He's very groggy.

"No shit," he whispers back.

He's obviously sore at her.

Laura pauses. "I'm so, so, so sorry."

"Not your fault." They're talking about the adamantium in his bones now. The horror story Kimura used to tell them. They had thought she was joking. A cruel joke. It couldn't be real.

Yet in her hands, Jim's hand feels heavier and thicker. Colder. Laura blinks away tears. "I was opened, too. I had the pain…just didn't get the metal."

"Mmm." Jim closes his eye and tries to swallow. He doesn't say anything else, and Laura feels her heart sink. Is he turning on her? Does he resent her natural skeleton?

For a while Laura sits with him, rocking back and forth slightly. Then she gets up and wanders out into the hall, her bare feet making no sound on the wooden floor as she automatically pads her feet with her muscles, tensing the arches.

She's lost, deep in thought, when she hears noise coming from the kitchen. Her insides tense—it's _him,_ the guy who saved her. Who killed Kimura. Laura feels a secret thrill, and suddenly quite predatory. Like a muscle tensing. She moves up to the door but doesn't enter, preferring to just watch her prey forage.

His back is facing her, and he's replacing a milk carton in the fridge. Her eyes shift; she realizes she's calculating the best way to pounce on him. Laura is so ready she has to curl her fingers into the wood to still herself. Her heart races in her chest. He smells delicious; she can practically see the male pheromones wafting off of him. If she could see them, she's convinced they would be green colored, like his powers.

She stiffens. This sharpening of senses is familiar. _No way,_ she thinks, her logical mind presenting the idea that she might be in heat again. This _was_that time of the month that she usually begins hunting in bars and becomes a flirt to the extreme. She'd been on the rag a bit before the gem job; their capture had interrupted any chance that she could go out and 'breed' afterward to take care of the problem. And, of course, the trauma had taken her mind off that side of her nature for a while, but now in this comfortable mansion, it is coming back tenfold.

Heat lasts for about four days, in which she almost loses her mind and wants to bang anything male that moves. By estimation, this must be day four—and being the last, also the strongest. She will be back to normal tomorrow.

She is confused; her emotions are mooshing together. On one hand she feels overwhelming gratitude, love towards her savior. She had really believed she was going to die. She had _wanted_ to die. And then he had come along…and _killed_ Kimura, the thing she wanted _most_ in life…and helped her heal…he'd been kind. He looks good too, and on the jet home the shock had begun evaporating and she'd fixated on his scent. It's intoxicating…something she realizes she pegs out during her quarterly hunting seasons. She hits on guys who not only _look _good, but smell good too.

_Oh, fuck! _She thinks, her eyebrows drawing together as she watches him shift a box of cookies, stop, then pull it out. It _is_heat. Tomorrow, her mind will clear up and she'll be mortified, because this time she hasn't hunted in a bar she can leave behind.

She's hunting on the job she has to live in. Like an animal defecating where it eats.

"Shit!" the guy says, the cookies rattling in the box he holds in his hand. He's seen her.

_Careless,_she thinks. "Hi," she says breathlessly.

Julian doesn't answer her, just stares, the cookies still in his hand.

"Can I have one?" she asks, her fingernails digging into the wood of the doorframe.

"No. Stay away from me."

Laura fingers the doorframe, thinks of what to say. She's got nothing, she realizes; she's too distracted with checking him out (unashamedly running her eyes up and down his figure). It will be easier if they just get it over with, she thinks vaguely.

"There's a counter—" she starts.

"No thanks," Julian says. She remembers his comment a while ago. Does he really not find her pretty? Laura's slightly amused at this thought; when she goes hunting, she usually has men following her around, hoping she will pick one of them. Or all of them, at once. One time she did. She's used to being in demand, a hot commodity. Not to toot her own horn.

"It would only take a few minutes," she says.

"I've got to go to bed," he says.

"Can I come?" Laura asks.

Julian looks at her again, and his hands tighten on the box of cookies, making it crackle in his hands a bit. He tries to fight the thoughts that come more and more easily; what she has just said sounds like a phenomenal idea. So good that he wonders why _he_hadn't thought of it.

"Yes," he says finally.

They hurry up the stairs, him a little slower so he can watch her ascend. He feels like they'll never reach his room; when they do he closes the door firmly behind them, locks it. He can just imagine Jean bursting in on them and making some inane excuse to take Laura away before he can…fuck her properly.

He reaches to turn the lights off, but Laura shakes her head. "No, no, leave it _on,_" she says, smiling slightly. He realizes she's right, he wants to watch her. God, he wants it so badly. Finally they are _alone_ and it's night and no one is going to stop this.

He moves towards her, then they meet in the middle of his room. He circles her for a moment, eyeing her from all angles; she seems to enjoy this momentary restraint; her smile grows. Spreads. Then he pounces and they tangle on the bed, him thinking somewhere in the back of his head how he's glad out of all the males in this place that he's the one she picked for this.

With every passing minute, the urge grows stronger; he thinks he might explode when she finally touches him down where he desperately wants her attention. His mouth is on fire already, as they twist on the bed, tasting and defining each other's shape through their clothing.

He's doing his best to get rid of that, the clothing. He finds her shirt hem and tugs it up, finding it hard to draw away long enough to pull it over her head. His fingers search her skin, finding nothing else; he makes a small sound, even more encouraged by this discovery. The underwear go next; a ripping sound, and then they are flung across the room, onto his study lamp where they hang like a trophy. For a while he plays with her rounded breasts, enjoying the firmness, pulling roughly at the tips and listening to her vocalizations.

Julian picks her up and slams her into his pillows, breathing hard. He reaches down, and she begins to twist slightly, and makes more of the soft noises, and secret more moisture onto his fingers. He looks at what he's doing, admiring the pink against his skin, then scoots down the bed, deciding he's going to taste it. His hands stroke down her parted legs and he looks up at her constantly, watching her face.

She shudders, and he sits up. That's enough. He positions himself and enters, feeling something burst. He stops, looks down at her slight wince; this can't be her first time, is it? The thought ignites him even more; he scoops her up with his arms and sets an impossible pace, amidst her noises and broken panting. He feels her shudder again, inside too, and he can't hold back anymore; a deeper movement and then the sudden relief of almost a week of repression.

"Oh god," he sighs, leaning on his elbows and resting his chin on her forehead. He feels satisfied, like he's eating world's best home cooked meal after starving for months, or is falling asleep after being awake for a very long time.

It doesn't last long. They tangle twice more, like animals, before falling into a deep sleep.


	7. Chapter 7

**-7-**

* * *

Julian wakes with a start, feels the weight on his chest, then closes his eyes. He knows he's given in, and feels pretty shitty for it. But not completely. Flashes of the night prior are still in his head, and from what he can tell, it _was_ phenomenal. It's not something to feel guilty about. He vaguely wonders if they will have more sex, since it's morning, and he's interested.

She's stirring in his arms, her long lashes batting as she opens them.

"Mmnn—" she says, then raises her head and looks away. "Wha—"

"Morning," he says, moving an arm behind his head, now that he isn't afraid of jostling her.

"_OH,_" she says, whipping her head around and looking at him. "You!"

"Me!" he says, and he grins slightly.

"Sorry, what's your name?" she asks.

"Julian," he supplies. Finding it odd that for once he's on the forgotten end.

"Right. Julian. Be a doll and show a girl where she left her clothes?" Laura asks.

"On the floor." He remembers something. "The lamp, too. Hey, can I keep those?"

"What the hell, sure," Laura says, moving the covers out of the way. He reaches out and touches her arm. "Wait…you can't just _leave._"

"Why can't I?" Laura counters.

Julian thinks, then grins again. "Well…last night was pretty hot, and the memories are giving me problems. Don't you think you should help me take care of it?"

Laura wrinkles her nose. "I'd rather not."

This is the first time he's been turned down so flatly by a girl, and it takes a second to actually dawn on him. "Okay—huh? What did you say?" he asks, confused.

"No can do buddy," she says, getting out of bed. "This was a one-time deal. Sorry."

"But…" Julian stares at her, then suddenly realizes she is about to walk out without a second glance. And he's realizing how interested he is in her, how he wants to repeat last night. Dozens of ideas are coming to mind, of new things to try with her.

She pulls on her t-shirt. "I look like ass," she murmurs, catching sight of herself in the mirror. She's about to _go. _

"Wait." He scrambles up. "Look, we don't have to, uh, do anything right now. Want to go get breakfast? Or go out and do something? I'd like to get to know you better."

"I'm sure you would," Laura says, smiling and glancing his way. "Unfortunately, I can't say the same about you. Have a great day." She walks to his door, twists the knob…and is gone.

Julian sits back in his bed and blinks, trying to process what just happened.

**…**

That night, after Laura has snooped the mansion and ensured everyone is asleep: "For Chrissakes, Laur…" Jim groans. He's sitting up now, in his cot, a bowl of cold chicken soup on his lap. He looks tired, despite all his bed rest recently. "We've been here…what…_three days…_and you're already alienating yourself?"

"Shut up. Five days."

"This is an _infiltration_ gig. We're supposed to _make friends._"

"I know that."

"You're one hundred percent fucking crazy. What about our rule?"

"'Don't shit where you eat,'" Laura quotes grimly. She looks away. "Jimbo, it's not my fault. You _know_ I have that time-of-the-month thing. If anything, it's your fault you weren't there to control me."

"_MY _fault?" Jim asks, his eyes widening, his nostrils flaring, in the same way hers does when either receives slander. "That's awesome. I love the part where it's _my_ fault. But my absolute _favorite _part is where this is all _MY FAULT. _And don't call me that, fuck face."

"Shut _up,_" Laura says, looking away. "I was in a delicate place."

"Hey, I'm in a delicate place too. Think I can get away with that on the redhead?" Jim grins.

"Jean's nice," Laura says, sniffing.

"Jean's _aces,_" Jim says. "Well, since you already got it on with the kid, now _I_ get time for her. I'd say five days, since you had a big head-start. And, jeez, really, _five days?_"

Laura nods.

"You're losing your touch," Jim accuses.

"You don't even _have_ one," Laura snaps. "I've seen you with girls at the bars. You have less class than a prostitute. '_Did you clean your pants with Windex? I can practically see myself in them!'. _Then there's, _'I am conducting a field test of how many women have pierced nipples'. _And '_You make Paris Hilton look like a teletubbie.'_"

"The second one _worked,_" Jim points out.

"My favorite has to be '_Bond. James Bond.'_Do you, like, google bad pick-up lines or something?"

"When I'm drunk," Jim says. "I invented the last one."

"You _invented_ James Bond?" Laura asks, wrinkling her nose.

"Yes. But that's not the point."

"What's the point?"

"The point is that I get a week to work my magic on the redhead. We can use the extra recon time, case the joint. Then we make our move."

"Whatever." Laura pauses. "Jim…"

"No, I am _not_ telling him off your you, and _no, _you can't keep him. You clean up your own messes. We're out of here once the job's done."

"But—" Laura wrinkles her nose. "I didn't say I want to keep him."

"You totally do. I can tell. You've got the hots for him, and that's all it is. If you think there's something more…it's transference. Remember when you were eight and you had the crush on the doc that did our claws?"

"…yes," Laura admits reluctantly, then adds, "Andrew."

"You fuckin' scratched his name on the cell walls."

"That was my hit list."

"You drew hearts around his name," Jim points out. "Or else that's a pretty soft hit list. What d'you do to your victims, send them flowers?"

"Shut UP, Jim!" Laura snaps.

"My point is, you'll get over it. Hell, I think I'm hung up on Jean coz she was standing over me with this big smile when I came to, and she was the one who helped me wake up. It's transference. It passes." Jim grins. "You won't even remember his name by Tuesday. Wanna bet?"

"Five bucks. And the loser gets the winner plastered," Laura says.

"You're on. What's his name again? I'm going to write it down in the corner of my newspaper, so we can check. And _no_ cheating, Laura! You _know _I'll find out."

"I won't cheat," Laura says snidely. "It's Julian."

"When did you become a lesbian?" Jim asks conversationally as he writes down the name on the corner of his newspaper (sticking his tongue out as he writes).

"Since never," Laura says. "It's a guy's name."

"I'm disappointed, Laur. This guy sounds like a real loser. He's probably in the closet, and using you to fight rumors. Is that him on the phone I hear? _Mom, guess what? I just popped my cherry! No, it wasn't an accident with the bike seat again, I—" _

"Shut _UP_!" Laura hisses, slapping Jim multiple times. He hunches to avoid the attack. "Jesus, Laura, I'm an invalid, and I have soup in my lap! What the hell!"

"You deserved it," Laura snaps, but she stops. Jim composes himself, then continues like nothing happened.

"Awesome. Man, I am _so_ going to enjoy this. I could do with a drink or fifty right now. Oh yeah, and I get a week to bed the redhead before we start the job." Jim gave her a thumbs-up, then winces. "Actually, make it two weeks. I'm a bit too sore to start anything at the moment."

"Is Mags going to accept that?" Laura asks.

"Christ, he'll wear a ballerina tutu and lipstick if I say it makes the job go smoother. We're the only ones in the freakin' world who can pull this off." Jim grins. "I'll talk to him. Got yer cell?"

"Won't he be sleeping?"

"Mags doesn't sleep…he waits," Jim says. "Seriously. He'll be up plotting something, probably about what he'll do to McDonalds when he rules the world. I'm personally hoping he extends breakfasts to all day. Give me your cell."

Laura digs in her pocket and produces it; Jim presses speed dial 9 and holds the phone to his ear. He rolls his eyes and sighs, presses a few more buttons on the cell, then a few seconds later repeats the motion. Laura can hear the automated voice—he is calling the fake 1-800 number and inputting a series of codes that only he and she know (and both have different sets) to connect to Magneto's cell phone. The elaborate security system is necessary in case either twin is captured and the information is tortured out of them (although that is highly unlikely to happen, as neither will divulge information under torture).

Finally, she hears Magneto say _'James?' _on the other end.

"Yeah, hi Erik," Jim says. "Listen, bout the job."

A pause on Magneto's end. '_I trust things are going according to plan?'_

"Give or take two weeks."

_'TWO WEEKS?' _Magneto roars into the cell phone. Laura shoots a look at Jim, who holds up a finger.

"Yeah, listen bub. If I don't take the time, I'll walk into his office and he'll turn me into a freakin' duck. Or, alternatively, send me after _you._"

A pause. '_I could live with that.' _

"Yeah, but I didn't mention what he'd have Laura do," Jim says. "You fancy your nut sack?"

Laura has to smile. He sounds like he's selling Magneto a car. Jim's training had involved salesman strategies, as a way to gain trust and confidence.

'_Two weeks, then,' _Magneto says, grudgingly.

"You're a peach, Erik. Isn't he an absolute peach, Laur?" Jim pauses. "Gotta go. Love you, Aunty M." He hits end, having thoroughly convinced Magneto he's about to be found out.

Laura takes the cell back, drops it in her pocket, and rolls her eyes at her brother, who looks pleased with himself. "Told ya."

**…**

Julian is sitting in the auditorium, with a pad of paper and a pencil. Professor Xavier is wheeling himself onto the stage below, smiling at his students. About a quarter of the small auditorium is filled with Institute students, and the rest are kids from local colleges. There are about forty students total.

He notes a pretty blond girl sitting down the way from him, and thinks that he may try to talk to her after the lecture, which is on Biology. More specifically, genetics.

"Good afternoon, and welcome…" the Professor opens dramatically. Julian wonders if he's really managing to project the image of his hair to _all_ the students.

After a while of sitting in his spot—far away from the rest of the people he knew—he becomes aware of two voices discussing something, in loud whispers. A guy's voice, and a girl's. Vaguely familiar.

"…oh my _fuck_, would you look at his _hair_," the girl hisses, laughing at the same time.

"It looks like a small animal died on his head," the guy replies gravely. "I'm guessing a Pomeranian."

"Or a really _bad_ comb over," the girl says. "I think he's using every bit of hair he has, including his pubes!"

Laughter. Julian grins. He'd been thinking this himself, but hadn't phrased it exactly this way.

"Wow, he's talking about hair patterns!" The girl cackles. "Think he'll bring up _his?_"

"Doubt it. What would you call it?"

"What _wouldn't_ I call it," the girl whispers back. "He seems to be focusing on how the gene gets passed on. I'm more concerned with how _not _to pass on that hair gene…"

"Simple. Don't have kids," the guy says.

"You're brilliant! "

The pair falls silent for a while, and Julian tries to focus on the lecture again. The Professor is talking now about stem-cell research. He reaches a controversial topic; the usage of babies for this area. He informs them that a fetus is not legally a baby until around the 20th week of gestation.

"That's the spirit," the girl says. "Population control, if you ask me. We're going to eat and fuck ourselves to death otherwise."

"I'd like to fuck myself to death," her companion replies. "Nah, I'd like that redhead to do it for me."

"You _would,_" the girl responds. "Listen to all the pro-life retards in here. They're so dumb. Can you imagine tying yourself down with a kid?"

"I've got enough kids to deal with already," the boy says.

"I am _not_ your kid sister."

"Sure you are."

" Think Kimura was pro-choice?" the girl asks.

"Of course she was. She was probably upset that no one would screw her so she could have the chance," the boy replies. The pair cackle quietly, in unison.

Julian suddenly realizes that the speakers are Laura and her brother, Jim. He's suddenly even more interested in what they're saying.

"Based on my experience with her child-raising methods, that woman should not have been allowed _anywhere _within a hundred feet of an infant," Laura says. Curiously he steals a peak between two heads in front of him; her nose is wrinkled, with a kind of amused expression.

Julian hasn't had much opportunity to watch Laura when she's _not_ emitting mind-blurring pheromones, so he's surprised to see that she has vibrant expressions that involve her whole face—from wide-eyed attention (an almost shocked look) to sour displeasure, to wrinkling her nose, and then to laughing, a sudden bark that makes her whole face light up. And her smile spreads slowly from her mouth, to include her eyes. And, damn, she's funny, too.

He watches her bite the eraser of her pencil, listening to Xavier speak. Now that he has recognized her, he finds it difficult to go back to Xavier's lecture. He realizes he's very, very curious. And quite possibly he's feeling little pangs of warmth towards her, like he did when he'd begun to date Sofia.

After the lecture, he runs after the pair, pushing a few people out of his way. They are heading quickly towards the exit; he reaches out before he is swept away and lays a hand on her shoulder. "Hey," he says.

Laura freezes to a halt, whips her head around and blinks, like she's focusing and saying _what do we have here? _

"Er, hi," she says. "Have we met?"

Julian raises his eyebrows. "Yeah. Two days ago…remember?"

"I'm drawing a blank, kid," Laura says.

_God, I hate her, _he thinks, flushing slightly. "You woke up in my bed?" he reminds her, trying to turn the conversation in his favor so he'll seem less like a girl chasing after some guy who's broken up with her, saying '_you promised you'd call!'_.

"Oh, HAHA!" Laura laughs abruptly. "Good times. Listen, I've got to—"

"No, wait. Can't we talk or something? I'd like to get to know you better. You seem pretty cool—"

"No can do," Laura says. "I'm a busy girl."

"You've got homework for this class—we could—" Julian says. He is interrupted by her brother returning.

"Laur, where the fuck—_oh,_" the other boy says, and now that the two are standing beside each other, Julian can see the strong resemblance.

Her brother raises his eyebrows. "So…what am I looking at?"

"The guy who keeps bugging me," Laura says, wrinkling her nose. "He doesn't understand that _no_ means _no._ Don't worry, there's probably a class here for that."

"Rape 101," her brother adds helpfully.

"You know what? Fuck both of you," Julian says, now in a bad mood. He doesn't like having the tables turned. Mostly what's bugging him is he used to do this to people himself, as recently as earlier that day, to a non-boarding student who had hit him up.

"Aww…the baby's gonna cwy," the brother says. "Say, this isn't the loser you boinked last Friday…is it, Laur? If, so, I'm mighty disappointed."

"Depends on how disappointed." Laura tosses her hair. "If it makes you suicidal…that's him. If not…I deny everything."

"Later," Julian says, shoving someone else out of his way. There is practically a black cloud traveling over his head. He hears them laughing behind him and high-fiving; then he's out the door at the end of the hall, and heading for the dorms, his ego stinging.

**…**

"_You're _in a great mood, aren't you?"

Julian looks up from where he's watching TV, to Jean, standing behind the couch. He frowns. "Not really, but aren't you messing around in my head to know that?"

"Hardly. You're projecting it so much that I feel like smashing something just standing beside you," Jean says. "If you don't like this feeling yourself…why did you cause it to other people before?"

"To let them know I was top dog," he grumbles.

Jean comes around the sofa, perches on the arm. "Hon…you don't _need_ to be nasty to be a leader. A good leader is chosen because they are nice, and people feel they are approachable."

"Whatever." Julian flips the channel, debates saying it, then does: "The only reason it cut me up is that _she_ went along with it. In fact, she led it."

"Who's _she?_" Jean asks.

"Laura. The new girl."

Jean stiffens. "Julian, I tried to spare you. You didn't…did you?"

He is silent, flips the channel. Jean stands up. "Well, can't say I didn't warn you, can you?"

"You didn't warn me that she's a cold-hearted bitch."

"Well, in her defense, she _was_ unaware of what she was doing, and _you—_"

"Stop right there. _She_ forced _me_ into it. Need I remind you who's tossing pheromones all over the place?" he says, his temper rising. "If anyone's upset here, it should be me. If she can't control what she does…and she can't dampen it…she shouldn't wander around while she's got her hormone thing going. It's like being hit by a fuckin' tow truck, when she starts messing with that shit."

Jean is silent for a moment. "My advice, Julian…just let things be. Don't go after her. You two are obviously not a match. You can't force something that isn't mutual."

"But I _like _her," he says, more forcefully than he intends. "She's hot, and she's funny, and she's smart, and…" he trails off.

"She's your dream girl," Jean finishes for him.

"Yeah."

"There will be other girls, Julian. You're young, and you're good looking. You have a good heart, too, no matter how hard you try to hide it. Let your true colors shine and the right one will see them."

Julian glances up at her. "You think so?"

"I _know_ so," Jean says, smiling.

"And you wouldn't…" he says.

"Oh, it's so cute that you keep trying," Jean says. "I'm afraid I've got my eye on some one else. I'll let you know if I change my mind…" she winks, reaches out and ruffles his hair. "You're a good kid."

"I hate it when people call me kid," Julian seethes, hunching to pull his head out of the way.

"Then stop being one," Jean teases, getting off the sofa and leaving the room. Julian sits, staring at the TV, and new ideas come to mind.


	8. Chapter 8

**-8-  
**

* * *

"_Julian_," Laura says proudly, on Tuesday morning.

Jim reads his writing on the newspaper and scowls. "Sonuvabitch," he says. "You're fuckin' with me. You _actually _remembered his name?"

"Yes," Laura says, holding out her hand. "Five bucks. And I recall something about this Friday being on _you, _the L.O.S.E.R."

Jim digs in his pocket and slaps a crumpled, split-and-taped-together five into Laura's palm.

She wrinkles her nose. "Hey! A _good _one! No one will take this!"

"That's my last five. On an unrelated topic, can I borrow five dollars?"

"You're unbelievable. Worst. Brother. _EVER." _

"I try," Jim grins, taking back the five. "Can we make Friday, like, two weeks from now? I have a big payday coming up. Something about my own continent, and all the lowly human slaves I can tolerate. Hell, I'll even give ya a couple Jimtopians to start your village of savages off with. And a matchbook."

"I was under the impression we were sharing the loot equally," Laura says, wrinkling her nose.

"Bad impression, Laur." Jim ducks her playful punch to his head. "So you really like this prick?"

"What? I dunno." Laura looks down. "I didn't like having to blow him off."

"But you sure liked blowing him." Jim avoids another punch. "Okay, okay. It sucks…but that's our line of work. I don't like thinking about making Jeannie cry, but—"

"I'm amazed that you've convinced yourself there will be tears," Laura says. "Unless you mean 'of relief'."

"Shut up. It's gonna be rough. But when has our life been easy?" He's referring to their mother. Their Sensei. The other boys and girls they've cared for before that have been killed in the line of battle.

"Yeah." Laura looks down.

"Remember, it was your choice. Break him off cold turkey, or wean him off. Or you could have enjoyed every second up until the point you had to snuff him."

Laura looks alarmed. "We're not killing them too," she says.

"Sure we are. Can't leave an army alive to brood the fact that we've murdered their leader in cold blood. Use your logic, Laur, I know you have it coz we learned the same tactics course."

"Shit. Jim, I can't. I…" her eyebrows draw together. "I'm not killing him."

"I'll do it." He pauses. "You can do the redhead for me."

"No!" Laura shakes her head vehemently. "I'm not killing any of the students. I came here to kill Xavier…and I'll do that….but nothing more."

"It's too late. We can't back off on a deal, Laur."

"You didn't tell me about this before! These are fucking teenagers, for chrissake!"

"We can't afford a blow to our reputation. It's the only thing we have."

"Absolutely not." Laura glares at her brother. "I'll fight you myself, if I have to. I'll fight _Magneto._ You're not changing the terms of the contract."

"I think the terms are good. We cut all our ties. Then we can start _new_ somewhere else, see? With the money we make from this…and our place in the new world order…Laur, we can _stop_ doing this for our living. We can afford to make lasting relationships then."

"I'm not killing anyone but Xavier," Laura repeats. She gets to her feet. "I'll be back later."

"Where are you going? We're in the middle of an assignment!"

"After what you've just let slip…you can do my part too, Jim," Laura says, and her tone is serious enough that he says nothing—lets her exit their shared bedroom—and close the door with a final _snap!_

Laura walks, running her mind over the problems. She's _seething. _Not just at the circumstance, but at the idea that Jim would take on a job for them that involved murdering innocent teenagers—not evil old men—and would deliberately _conceal_ this fact from her until they were in too deep to cancel it.

She wanders outside aimlessly, lost in thought. Her nose leads her to the arboretum, to the area of good smells; for a while she browses the flowers, in bushes, beds and elaborate displays. There is a bench in the center, on which she sits down, her head in her hands.

**…**

Biology lecture, and Laura can't focus. She fidgets constantly, snaps at Jim when he talks to her, and finally—halfway through—whispers "I'll be back,"—and she disappears.

In the hall, she studies the bulletin boards Xavier has erected, so students coming from other classes can post events. Her fingers trembling, Laura studies one for a bake sale. It's so innocent, with pictures of gingerbread cookies, smiling.

_Am I a real girl yet? _

The door from which she'd entered the hall opens with a creak. His scent hits her slightly before.

She whips around as he steps into the hall. "Stop following me!" she snaps.

The boy holds a hand up. "I'm going to the washroom." He pauses. "Since when are you interested in what I do?"

"Since never. Get to it, kid," she says, turning her back on him again. He shrugs—she can hear the movement of his skeleton—and continues down the hall, his skateboard sneakers squeaking in a lackluster fashion against the polished surface. She moves further down, to the window at the other end, and looks out for a while, then decides she can't handle another moment of walls. She heads for the exit.

"Hey," the boy calls after her, having the luck to leave the washroom at that moment. "You're going to skip lecture?"

"No, I'm going on a field trip, to this place called _the bar,_" she says, her hand on the door.

"Wait up!" Julian reaches her faster than she'd expected.

"You're under-aged," Laura sneers.

"So are you."

"Technically. But I have _so_ much experience. You're still wet behind the ears, kid, from _birth water_."

Julian raises his eyebrows. "I can probably drink you under the table. You weigh like, what, a hundred pounds soaking wet?"

Laura clues in right away. "A hundred and forty, but nice try at flattering me. I won't give in."

"Hey, never overestimate weight," Julian says. "Come on…it'll be on me."

She almost says yes, then checks herself. "Sorry, kid. I have a date."

He stops. "What? Really?"

"Yeah." Laura thinks fast. "His name is Svent. Big guy, but what a softie when it comes to showing his girl a good time."

"I see. Where'd you meet him?" He's giving her a skeptical look; Laura finds herself admiring his eyes. _They're…very…blue…_she thinks, leaning on the door frame. She realizes he's waiting for an answer, and blurts the first thing that comes to mind: "Erm—washroom."

A moment passes. "Shit!" Laura says, furious with herself.

"You almost convinced me," Julian offers. He looks amused.

"Shut up. And no, this doesn't mean you can come." She looks away, still angry.

"Well, maybe I was going to the bar too. Say we just happen to meet up."

"No!" Laura moves her hand away, because it looks like he's about to take it or something. "You don't get it. I _can't_, okay? Just…leave it alone. I don't want to have anything to do with you people." She turns her back on him. "Attachments are messy and usually end in blood."

"Well…that's an odd thing to say," Julian says, following her into the stairwell. The door makes a loud, echoing _clonk! _as it shuts behind them. "Here I was thinking you had a problem with _me._"

"I do," Laura says. "You're too full of yourself."

"…" Julian runs a hand through his hair, pausing on the stairs behind her. "How?"

She wrinkles her nose. "You _assumed_ I wanted something more," she says, distastefully.

"Well, you kind of started off things that way," he points out.

"That was, um, _really_ not evidence you can rely on," Laura says, also turning around to glare up at him. "For fuck's sakes, my _ribcage_ was open when you found me…and someone was scraping my insides out. You stopped them and put me back together. What do you _expect _me to say?"

Julian winces. "That sounds even worse when you describe it. I've actually tried to repress it quite a bit."

"Good." Laura starts descending again.

"What the hell _was_ that, anyway? Why was she hurting you?" Julian asks. Laura stops; he jumps down the stairs two at a time till they stand level.

"I don't want to get into my past with you," Laura says stubbornly. Her look is secretive, the brows drawn, the eyes shiny. "It was just a bad situation."

"I'll say," he murmurs, then puts his hands on her waist lightly. "So, _do_ you want more?"

"Hell no!" Laura says, trying to bat him away; he dodges. "I mean, really. All pretenses aside. I want to know if you like _anything_ about me…or if I'm wasting my time."

"_You're_ a waste of time," she says, sneering at him.

"Answer me." He's talking to her like she's a five year old; strangely she feels comforted, instead of offended. She _wants_ to be recognized for what she feels she is, at times. She wants someone else to know better, for once.

"….maybe," she admits, looking down.

Julian breaks into a grin, that warns her of pursuit to follow.

"I _told_ you, though, I _can't,_" she scolds, annoyed. "I'm just not _looking_ for anyone right now."

"I can wait," Julian says. She swallows, wondering how she can get him to understand; he inclines his head and kisses her while she's thinking. For a moment she allows it, then pushes him off.

"No. I mean, never. Not with you. I can't explain it…but please…trust me."

"…" Julian lets her slip past him, then grabs her wrist. "Wait. At least…can't we be friends?"

She bows her head, tugs her arm free. "No."

She leaves him standing by the lower doors, confused.

**…**

"Think about the block weighing nothing," Jean encourages him.

Julian is actually thinking about the block weighing a lot, a whole _fucking _lot. He can't seem to touch the part of his brain that houses his weird powers. He's supposed to be lifting these blocks and stacking them, but he has yet to make one even budge.

After a while, Jean tells him that it's time for a break, and he leaves feeling disappointed and agitated. He really _wants _to be able to use his ability. It's already gotten him into a lot of trouble, and he thinks it's only fair it starts paying him back. He's made all sorts of plans; pranks, unbuttoning female tops, sex tricks, and changing the channel when he's lost the remote. The more he thinks about it, the more awesome ideas he gets.

He returns to his room and takes a shower, having perspired heavily during a few of his attempts to move the block. After pulling on a fresh set of clothes, he picks up the Biology textbook and tries to cram more into his head. Despite the headache, and the agitation, and the confusion over his conversation with Laura yesterday.

What had it _meant? _She'd seemed to want more; he had sensed her reluctance wasn't her own. It makes no sense to him whatsoever; in fact, it kind of hurts him that she can let something else stand in the way of what could potentially be a great relationship with him.

Like he isn't good enough, or something. He finally flings his textbook at his dresser and lies down on his bed to sulk and brood over this development.

**…**

"Left."

_**SLASH!**_

"To your eight o' clock, Jimbo."

_**SNAP!**_

"Bloody lotus."

_**KA-POWWW!**_

"You know I think that name is totally gay. Why do you _insist _on using it?"

_**POW! **_"Because you think that," Jim grins.

"You suck." _**RIPPP! SHREDD!**_

"I am _so_ getting a new jacket. That's the last time I sew the sleeve back on."

_**SMACK!**_ "Cheapskate!" Laura chimes.

_**CRACKOOW! **_"Hey, just know how to live in this tough economic environment," Jim says. __

_**KA-BAMMM!**_ "It's every man for himself. Know of any good sales?"

_**CLANG!**_"I think Danier is fifty percent off right now."

_**BAMMM!**_"You _know_ my opinion of those jackets, Laur. They're metrosexual."

_**KRACCCK!**_"How can a _jacket _be metrosexual?"

_**POP!**_"Easy. It makes a statement I don't want to be associated with."

_**BANGGG!**_"I don't want to be associated with _you._"

_**SHRRIPP!**_"Then don't."

"Children, that's enough," another voice calls. The twins finish a flying kick, arms linked, and land crouched on the floor, sweat rolling down their foreheads. Around them are the other students-dead, their corpses mangled beyond recognition.

"I will admit to being impressed on some primal level, but I _did_ ask you to defeat my students—not annihilate them." The Professor is rolling towards them, smiling. "So, did my X-men give you a fight worthy of your skill?"

"Bub, I ain't even _callin'_ that a fight," Jim says, grinning. "I call that a hit-and-run. With them on the hittin' side, and _us _doin' the runnin'."

Laura brushes hair out of her eyes and accepts a water bottle being handed to her by Jean. She drinks, trying not to look at the students lying decapitated at their feet evaporate into thin air, the hologram program ending.

"That one kid didn't even put up a _fight,_" Jim says to Laura.

"Don't," she warns.

"And Laura? What did _you _think of my team?" Xavier is addressing her now.

Laura bows her head. "They're inexperienced. We had an unreal advantage over them."

The other students are standing behind Xavier, some with folded arms, having born witness to the fight.

There's one she avoids looking at, but she can _feel_ his gaze on her—questioning. Where did she get skills like this? How did this factor into the discussion they'd had yesterday? He wasn't stupid—would he put two and two together, and figure out she was here on a job?

Or maybe he's just processing the fact that it took her less than two seconds to cut his head off. Timed.

Laura's a dangerous girl.

**…**

Now Julian's feeling even _more_ inadequate, because in the simulation, the girl cut his head off in two seconds—without his holographic counterpart even putting up a fight. It had been programmed to respond as his current combat skill would allow, and apparently he _had_ none.

Maybe _that's_ her problem with him. His inability to actually use his powers. Maybe she is proud of having mastered hers and does not want to be seen with some halfwit who could inadvertently cause an accident, or fail to perform when his ability is required.

It's a goal now. He is determined to master his powers, like it is set in stone that doing so will impress her to the point of giving in. Oddly he doesn't even consider giving up or deciding it's her problem, not his. No, it's _his_ problem. And he's going to fix it.


	9. Chapter 9

**-9-  
**

* * *

"I'm officially impressed," Jean says, looking up at the floating semi-truck and the train of engine parts that arc from it like a rainbow. "Last week, you couldn't lift _blocks, _and now you're doing something that quite frankly challenges _my_ abilities."

Julian is watching the car from the fencepost. "Yeah, how about that." He pats himself on the back. The hours and hours he'd spent in his room, focusing on picking up the dice, have finally paid off.

"Put them back," Jean says. "If you can finish the job, and it _starts _after, then you'll be deemed ready for the next level of training."

The engine parts fold back under the hood like an accordion. Julian keeps his eyes open, as he's been trained to do, but he's picturing the engine. He has a lot of experience with cars, and could almost fix them blindfolded, with his hands tied behind his back. Which is basically what he is doing right now.

He finishes the engine, brings the truck down, and causes the doors to open, then turns the ignition with his mind. The engine catches, then roars to a start.

"Do I get a gold star?" he asks, grinning.

"Yeah, totally," Jean says. "You're ready for the next step."

"Which is?" Julian asks.

"Flying," Jean says, making a few marks on her clip board.

Julian straightens from where he is leaning on the fencepost. "You're _kidding_," he says, his voice full of awe. "Like in a jet? Or…wow, I guess I _could_ make myself fly."

"You can make yourself fly," Jean confirms. "And we're going to start now. Let's head out to the open field…the first few times can be rough, with take offs and landings."

"Pfft. I just put an _engine_ back together in the _air,_" Julian says, eager to try. Already he's accessing his telekinesis, telling it to pick himself up. And boy, is he unprepared. His face goes pale as he is grabbed by a force, the strength of which he is unprepared for (and oddly it's coming from his own mind). Julian is ripped off his feet and hurled into the air; he panics. As he panics, the force grows stronger.

It ends when he hits a tree, head-first, and is knocked unconscious. He falls to the ground and would have broken something, except Jean catches him in a thought-net and slows his descent.

**…**

"Holy shit, is he OK?" Laura asks from the steps as Jean carries the boy into the school, her expression grim.

"He had a little accident with his flight training," Jean says.

Laura jumps to her feet, her homework forgotten, and moves towards where he is floating. Sure enough, there's a dark, egg-shaped lump forming on his high forehead. She hesitates, then reaches out and runs her fingers over the normal-colored flesh beside it.

"God, what happened?" she asks.

Jean fights the urge to smile. Dimples appear. "He got really excited when I told him he could fly…and he kind of ignored my warnings." She hesitates, then shows Laura a quick mental replay of the event.

"HAHAHA!" Laura bursts out laughing. "That's fucking hilarious! Is he going to be OK?"

"I think so. He obviously has a concussion," Jean says. "And I'll bet his ego is bruised a bit more than his head. Facial wounds are always the worst."

"Tell me about it," Laura says. "Need help getting him down to the infirmary?"

"You could handle the elevator buttons," Jean suggests. The two girls proceed, and soon the unconscious Julian is spread out on a stretcher, his head covered in a swath of bandages.

**…**

"…" Julian comes to, and his eyes immediately begin watering from the headache that he is confronted with. It is undoubtedly the worst he's ever experienced. Not to mention that he feels like he's been tortured on a stretching rack; every joint in his body screams in pain.

"Oh look, Sleeping Beauty's waking up!" Laura says from the corner. _Rustle, _as her magazine is set down, _shuffle shuffle squeak, _as she approaches his bedside. Every sound is magnified beyond his ability to bear it.

"…ehn…" he says weakly. He feels his hand being patted. "Turkeys aren't meant to fly, kid," she advises him gravely, then snorts. "That's the funniest thing I've seen this _year!_"

_…oh god…_he thinks between headache throbs. He wished she hadn't seen his complete and utter humiliation at his own hands. Or brain, rather.

"Oh, by the way…you're not allergic to morphine, are you?" she asks.

"…n-no," he whispers.

Laura reaches above him, and for a moment he has a nice view of her breasts as she fiddles with something by his head. "There. Turned on your tap. Jean said you can have some, for the next few hours. Apparently you cracked your skull a bit, and she thinks that might hurt. What's your opinion?"

Julian glares at her out of one eye. She cackles, then goes to her chair in the corner and moves it closer.

After about two minutes, the pain starts easing, and he begins to feel much more sociable.

"W-why are _you _here?" he asks, tilting his head slightly so he can see Laura.

"I was helping Jean out."

"Did she ask you to s-stay?"

"Yes, to turn on your drugs," Laura says. "I'll stay for a bit and make sure you don't, you know, vomit in your mouth and choke to death, or something."

"That sounds great." Julian closes his eyes. "So…you didn't care that I got hurt?"

"I wasn't especially hoping you'd get hurt, if that's what you mean," she says patiently.

"Mmm." He reaches out, bats the air a few times; she realizes he's looking for her hand. At first she refuses to provide it, but then she takes pity and reluctantly places her fingertips against his palm. She feels his fingers wrap around her digits and he seems satisfied, the corners of his mouth turning up.

"…was trying to impress you," he says suddenly, like he's finishing a sentence.

"Well, I can't say I wasn't impressed," Laura says. "Probably in a different way than you intended."

"How'd I impress you?"

"The size of your goose-egg," Laura says.

Julian smiles slightly. "Was hoping…it'd be the size of…something else…"

"You're impossible," Laura says, then adds: "You're average, too."

He cringes slightly. "Really?"

Laura sees he's disappointed, and feels like laughing, but knows this will hurt his feelings. "Well, I guess the demographic of _my_average is different than some other girls'. I usually pick well-endowed men." She pats herself on the back for her diplomatic reply; he visibly relaxes. "Good," he says. He pauses, then—probably spurred on by the drugs—adds "I like you…a lot. A lot lot."

"Uhh, thanks?" Laura says.

He isn't done. "I think about you…all the time. You're pretty…and you're smart…and you're funny…Jean says your my dream girl. You know that?"

"Thanks," Laura says again.

"I want you…to be mine," he says, his voice increasing in urgency. "Please. I don't care, about whatever it is…that makes you stop."

"I can't," Laura says. She reaches out and strokes his cheek with her free hand. "I told you that."

"Why?" he asks. "Give me…a good reason."

Again, Laura draws a blank. Nothing will suffice but the truth…and she can't give him that. "Trust me." She hesitates, then decides he won't remember. "I would if I could." She leans down and kisses him lightly, in apology. He catches the back of her head and holds her there; he's so open about his feelings that Laura feels bad, and suddenly she realizes her eyes are wet.

She pulls back. She hasn't cried since she killed her mother.

"I won't…stop trying," he warns her, his eyes closed. "I wish you'd just…let it happen…you're getting to know me whether you like it or not."

Laura stiffens. He is right. He's creeping into her life, and now when she's forced to kill him, she'll be left with memories of this kiss she's let happen, of his feelings that she kept rebuking, of the way she made fun of him and spent her nights alone, even when Jim was elsewhere—working on Jean—and she could have been in his bed.

"God," she says, her voice breaking. "I can't. You don't understand. I _can't. _It's not my _choice. _It's something I'm being forced to do."

Julian cracks open an eyelid. "Are you in trouble?" he asks solemnly.

She bows her head. "No. Yes. I don't know. I just know there's something I don't want to do, and someone else is making me do it. And I can't tell you what it is."

"Tell Xavier," Julian advises, patting her hand.

"I can't," she says.

"Jean?"

"No."

"Tell me, then." He pauses. "I won't…tell anyone, Laura. You can trust me. Whatever it is…can't be that bad…you're too good to be involved in…bad shit."

"Shut up," Laura says. Her eyes are burning again. She makes to leave; he holds onto her hand.

"You can tell me," he insists.

"No. I have to go now." She twists her arm free, and leaves.

Julian remembers nothing about this when he wakes up the next day, except for the general knowledge that he'd spoken with Laura again, and she'd turned him down.


	10. Chapter 10

**A/N: **Sorry for the lack of updates. Had, y'know, crap going on.

* * *

**Chapter 10**

* * *

"We've got more time," Jim whispers, a month later. "Mags wants to see what Xavier does with this new Cerebra machine thing. He said hold off on the kill, till he gives the say-so."

Laura bristles. She is already a ball of agitation; Jim has been delaying the kill forever, because Jean's not giving in and sleeping with him. She, on the other hand, has remained in her own bed, sans partner, because she refuses to make a connection. Or, rather, to let the connection go further.

She has, however, been watching Julian from a distance. She'd felt hurt (despite knowing better) when he'd gone on a few dates; he didn't sleep with them though.

Life at the mansion is pretty sweet. There's academic activities, dances, and do-gooder activities as one of Xavier's X-men. Laura has participated in these, and has been more interested in them than Jim, who feigns interest to win Jean's favor.

**…**

"Go on, ask him."

"No," Laura hisses. Jim's bugging her to ask Julian on a date; a double date. So that her brother can ultimately bag Jean. He says the redhead has been talking about how fun going out with a bunch of kids would be, and about double dates she'd had in the past that were apparently smash hits.

They are sitting in the library, on a couch by the window. Julian is sitting in a corner chair, reading from a Chemistry book, his brow wrinkled.

"I thought Julian was your boyfriend," Jim says loudly, so the other boy looks up. Laura elbows him in the ribs; he grimaces. The flesh is still tender from the metal implants.

"He's _not,_" Laura says angrily. "I won't do it so you can lay her. Fuck off." She gets up and storms out, seething at Jim's nerve.

"Hey!" From behind her; Julian, at the door.

She doesn't answer, keeps walking. Julian doesn't accept this; he runs to catch up, and claps a hand down on her shoulder. She whirls around, popping the claws on one hand.

"Don't _touch _me," she warns.

"Alright. I just wanted to ask you what that was all about. In there."

"Jim's just being an asshole. Nothing new." Laura withdraws her claws, kicks the ground as she turns.

"I thought you guys have a good relationship," Julian says, not leaving.

"We do. He just…crosses some boundaries, sometimes." She looks at the floor as she walks down the hall, and he follows, eager to hear whatever he can about her life. "You _know _how siblings can be."

"I was an only child," Julian says.

"Oh," Laura says. "That must be nice. I wonder what it's like to be _alone_."

"Not all that fun," Julian says. "So, what was he bothering you about?"

"Nothing," Laura says firmly.

"Alright. You know where I am if you want to talk," he says.

Laura hesitates, then nods. They part ways.

**…**

"Good!" Jean calls, from where she's floating, supervising Julian as he zips around, supported by only his mind. After actually _listening _to Jean's instructions, he'd found the undertaking much more manageable, the frightening pull of before becoming a gentle tug behind his navel that kind of felt good, like massaging an aching muscle. The more force exerted, the better it feels—and the faster he flies.

He's up to a hundred miles per hour now, when he feels like it. After this kind of speed, though, when he lets himself stop, he's starving. And mildly sleepy—and slightly aroused. Maybe it's the thing with his navel. Or maybe it's just because he's a guy, and he hasn't seen any action for a while.

Either way, he's thrilled by his new found ability, and spends as much time in the air as possible. In the air, it seems like all his problems drop away and are left behind on the ground. He's almost loathe to land, at times. Some of the other students can fly too. Out of the other borders, Jean, Warren and Ro are also able to fly; the latter two are just learning. Warren learns fastest and often tries racing Julian.

His telekinesis continues to improve, in general. He learns to form 'shields'—bubbles of green energy that encase whatever he wants it to. His shielding works differently than Jean's; instead of stopping objects in the air space that his shield occupies, his shield is impenetrable, and objects bounce off of it. This is somewhat interesting, as it could be a weapon in itself; he recalls the machine gun fire at the facility, and notes that the bullets would bounce _off_ his shield, potentially into his opponents.

The Professor and Jean suspect he has latent telepathy too, based on the fact that both of them have telekinesis—to some degree—and telepathy as well. The abilities seem to balance; the Professor is an extremely strong telepath, but has only entry-level telekinesis with basic object moving abilities; Jean has a half-and-half balance that seems to waver between what she is focusing on most; and Julian seems to possess powerful telekinesis; therefore he is suspected to be a weak telepath, if he is at all.

They encourage him as much as they can to try accessing this ability, cooing to him about the benefits. Julian thinks he might be holding back on trying this talent because he is afraid of what he'll find in other people's minds. Having seen—in the facility—what they are capable of, he knows there are deep, dark corners; and right now, he's letting himself bask in the illusion that everything's peachy keen.

**…**

"Alright, children, I'm ready," Professor Xavier says, stretching his arms and rolling up his sleeves. "Let's see what you've got for me this time, eh?"

His boarding students are gathered around him, in the study. They are clad in their uniforms, holding bristol board pieces with newspaper articles taped to the surfaces; articles that feature _them_doing humanitarian deeds.

Julian grimaces at his previous partner, Warren, who grins. They'd had a thin week for disasters and suicides; a good thing on the whole, but bad for their grades. On Friday, desperate for something to present for Monday's weekly hand-in, Julian had suggested they spend time in a soup kitchen.

It had been an interesting weekend. Warren made just about anything fun, but there had been several bums there that Julian hopes he'll never have the misfortune of meeting again. He's done his best (with club soda and a dishrag) to scrub the bloody vomit from one old loony out of his top.

He steels a glance across the room, even though for the last ten minutes he's made himself look away, like she's the sun, and will hurt his eyes if he stares at her directly. Actually, he's making this effort not to watch her because it makes her uncomfortable. He inhales a bit deeper. She _does_ look amazing in the piece of latex that she's been given. It highlights every curve and sticks to her like a second skin; the top looks like the slightest movement will make it burst. He always starts wondering _how_ it's staying together.

"Beast and Storm," Professor Xavier says, holding out his hands for their presentation. "Ah, what have we here? _'__Xavier __teens __facilitate __drug __bust__'_," he reads aloud, and proceeds to do so for the entire article.

"Good work, Team Alpha," he concludes. "Very solid, and a fine contender for the bonus mark. Now, Team Beta…Pscion and Rogue?"

Rogue hands the Professor their board, and he sets to reading it out loud. '_Suicide __rate __drops__ dramatically__ in __New__ York,__ reports of __teen__ '__angels__'__.__" _He smiles. "Oh, Jean, this is splendid," he says, and continues reading. Julian feels annoyed and cheated; how can he help the fact that his power is to move things and not sense suicides before they happen?

"Team Charlie…Verve and Angel?"

Julian moves forwards, and hands his board to the Professor, who studies it intently. Silence. For a few moments, Julian has the wild assumption that he is going to be flunked out of the school; then the Professor smiles. "Very good. Nice to see you and Warren trying traditional methods of helping, for a change. Everyone…here's an example you can learn from. This is a _Helping __Hands _pamphlet. Underneath it is a letter stating that these boys donated ten hours of time working in their soup kitchen, serving the homeless."

Standing behind the Professor, Warren flashes Julian a thumbs-up.

"Team Delta...Y-21 and X-23," the Professor says. "You two really should choose different names. I don't feel at ease continuing the lab's tradition."

"We'll get right on that," Jim says. "Can I be God-Jesus?"

The Professor sighs, as a few other students snicker. He doesn't answer, only holds out his hand for the board. Jim rummages around in his pocket, pulls out a rumpled newspaper clipping, and passes it to the Professor; Julian suddenly feels stupid for spending an hour preparing his board.

"_Two __teens __single handedly __apprehend __gangs _the Warriors _and_ the Bloodhounds _last__ Thursday._" Xavier pauses; obviously impressed. Julian sneaks another glance at the girl, and realizes, despite her more-than-attractive body, he's been looking mostly at her face. It's very expressive, like a living artist's canvas, and he loves watching her emotions flit across it. Right now, her head is bowed, her thick eyelashes are lowered; her eyes are hidden in a half-closed state. Her hair is piled up on her head in some sort of messy bun that emphasizes that there is a lot of it; if not for the uniform, she'd be just another college girl, going out in her sweats, too cool to care.

"Excellent, children. I do ask, however, that you keep your abilities as low-key as possible. Mutants are still a hidden phenomenon…and I would prefer it stay that way as long as possible." He straightens in his chair. "Alright. The groups for next week's assignment, due Monday. Let's see…" he drums his fingers on the arm rests of his wheelchair, thinking. The idea is that they rotate partners so that everyone works with each other once, then it starts over.

"Team Alpha: Pscion…and Angel." Jean smiles at Warren, and heads over. They've probably going to start planning right away; Jean is all about grades. They receive marks on Tuesdays, after Xavier has considered their hand-ins overnight.

"Team Beta: Beast…and Y-21." Jim casts a glance at Hank, his expression full of bitter disappointment. His eyes slide past Hank to Jean, who pretends not to notice the attention—but Julian has no doubt that she knows. She knows _everything._

"Team Charlie: Storm…and Rogue." Julian wonders if this is a good idea. The women are collectively so sour and depressing that they will probably _increase _the suicide rate. He is distracted with this thought, and doesn't notice he hasn't been picked until his name is called.

"Team Delta: Verve…and X-23." Laura's eyes are already fixed on him, startled, open wide, and filled with a kind of desperation. She doesn't want him as a partner for _anything._Something inside him feels raw—maybe his throat—but he heads towards the Professor, his eyebrows drawn together.

"Uh, sir, can I have a word?" he asks.

Professor Xavier smiles. "What would it be, Julian?"

"Can I be partnered with someone else?" he asks, then adds: "Laura and I don't get along well."

"I'm sorry, son, but this is precisely what this exercise is _for,_" the Professor replies gravely. "Mutants are far and few in between, as of yet. We need to bond with our brothers and sisters, work together as teams, and as comrades. One day—soon—our lives will depend upon our ability to tolerate one another."

Julian shrugs. He's tried. He turns to Laura; she's looking at the floor again.

"Sorry."

"It's fine," she murmurs, in a tone that tells him it is definitely _not _fine. "We'll just take care of the project ASAP, okay?"

"Yeah," Julian says. He can't help the little thrill he feels at having an excuse to talk to her, if just for a little while. He wishes, in the back of his mind, he had an excuse to touch her too.

But it's fine.

**…**

Lunch, the next day: He's eating at his usual table, with a textbook propped up in front of him: _Chemistry_, his tray holding a plate of carefully measured nutritional foods, calculated to counter the calories he burns up with his powers in front of him.

_CLANG!_His tray rattles, but his book remains upright, because he's holding it with his mind. He looks over the edge and sees Laura, looking frazzled, her eyes puffy with what is probably exhaustion; it's her tray that was flung down with force, causing the noise.

"Projects!" she barks.

"Hi," Julian says calmly, flicking the page of his textbook mentally. "Come here often?"

"Did you think of _anything_ yet?" Laura demands.

"I'm studying for a midterm. So no, I did not."

"Well…" Laura stabs something viciously on her plate. A vegetable. She almost inhales it as she eats it, her eyes flicking nervously about the cafeteria. _Chew,__chew,__chew,__gulp!_"I want to make it very clear—"

"Let me guess, you want nothing to do with me. You just want to do the assignment, then forget I exist. And that's why you want to do it _quickly._Well, I'll look at it after tomorrow."

"No, _now!_" Laura snaps, her eyes full of rage. They are also slightly bloodshot. He raises his eyebrows; he's never seen the girl this agitated, even considering their history.

"What's up?" he asks, tilting the book down so he can look at her better. A sudden idea strikes. "Are you on the rag, or something?"

Laura leans back. "None of your goddamn business, kid."

"You _are_, aren't you?"

She wrinkles her nose. "For your information, that was last week. So it's not 'the rag'. PMS comes before. What it is, kid…is having to work with _you_. I'd skip the assignment if it weren't mandatory to my staying here."

Julian pauses a second, pushing down the raw feeling again. She can rip him up inside, with a few sharp words. "Well, fine. Do you have any ideas?"

"Xavier likes humanitarian things, like your soup kitchen stint," she says. "Or Jean's working with the depressed. Not action hero stuff…as much. Probably because he figures we have enough of that coming, not far off." She pauses. "Can you think of other kinds of community service?"

"Volunteering at a hospital," Julian suggests.

"I don't like hospitals." Laura says this through her teeth, and he can think of a few reasons why. How stupid of him to bring it up.

"Um…volunteer at an old folk's home? Or an asylum?"

"Same thing," Laura says. "I don't do clinics. Next idea."

Julian leans back in his chair, and he realizes, if he moves his foot a few inches, to the right, he could rub it along the line of her calf. He debates the idea; but he knows she wouldn't like it. He crosses his leg instead, jiggling the foot.

"Highway clean-up patrol?" he suggests, almost half-jokingly, but Laura nods. "Okay. Awesome. Where do we go for that? And do we get to work separately?"

"Probably," Julian says. He's suddenly not hungry anymore; he sends the tray over to the dishes rack, then gets up. "I have to go now. Have to ask my chem teacher something. I'll look up the info for the patrol thing tonight, and let you know tomorrow.

"Okay," Laura says.

He leaves.


	11. Chapter 11

**A/N: **Dear Liu: Fuck you. Love, onelildustbunni. PS: Happy holidays everyone!

* * *

**-11-**

* * *

Julian adjusts the stupid orange visibility vest, dragging the bag and holding the long poking stick in his other hand. He's in a bad mood, has been all week. His exams went poorly—even worse than he had expected—due to his not being able to focus; the reason was about five hundred yards away, clad in a similar safety outfit, trying to stab a piece of paper on her poking stick. She looks frustrated, too, but for a different reason.

He turns back to his job—cleaning the highway. He hates how he's spending his Friday; turning his back to the girl who has become his greatest desire, and instead scrutinizing the land for garbage. Brilliant. He picks up an empty coke bottle and shoves it wearily in his bag. It isn't the job, nor the company, that bothers him; it's the situation.

Around Noon, he becomes aware that he is hungry (despite looking at garbage for the past three hours), and he heads back to their agreed meeting point. Sure enough, Laura is already there, perched on the side rail, sandwich in hands, chewing with a speculative expression.

He approaches, then finds his lunch in the cooler and moves to sit beside her. She jerks a bit and eyes him jumpily; he raises his eyebrows. Before he can comment, a convertible sports car with the top down zips past—a blue BMW—containing two younger male passengers. They are laughing; one turns and hurls his fries platter at Laura as they pass.

"AIEEE!" She shouts, as a splatter of ketchup hits her in the face. She closes her eyes, her nostrils flaring in anger; Julian looks at the platter, then bends down and picks it up.

"Watch _this,_" he says. He looks at the sports car—about forty feet down the road now—about twenty fries raise from the platter—and moments later, there are screams in the distance as the food imbeds itself in their windshield (along with a few spider web cracks).

The car swerves, then holds course, speeding up.

"I'll admit, that was impressive," Laura says, with a slight smile when the car is out of sight. "You're getting better with your whole power thing. What was it again?"

"I can move stuff with my brain," Julian recites. He still hasn't managed to memorize the proper word for his power.

"Mind over matter," Laura says. "Like Jean?"

"Better," Julian says proudly. He has worked for this moment, the moment in which he could impress her with his control over his telekinesis. Even if that moment never came, he had wanted to be ready.

"That's pretty cool," Laura says.

They eat the rest of the lunch in silence, then return to their duties.

**…**

"_God,_" Julian groans, as they head up the grand staircase that evening, boots clumping unevenly, grimy and exhausted from their long day of harvesting garbage from the Interstate. And even more exhausted at the thought that they'll have to repeat the whole day tomorrow, and the day after. Apparently, earning credit for community service hours actually required _spending_the hours doing community services.

"I wonder if I'll ever be clean again," Julian says miserably.

Laura keeps her eyes trained on the floor and says nothing. She has not spoken one word since earlier in the afternoon, but her agitation with him seems to have grown. He shrugs it off; he has more pressing issues, such as whether or not he can ever get the rings of grime out from under his fingernails (from when he'd accidentally spilled a half-filled oil can, abandoned on the side of the interstate).

They reach the landing, ascend another set of stairs, and head towards the dorms. There are two wings; one for boys, one for girls. He glances at Laura.

"Have a good evening. I'll text you tomorrow when I'm ready. We can—" he pauses. Laura has paused, too, and something is different. She has an expression of faint inner conflict. Hesitation.

"Thanks for, well, earlier," she says, smiling slightly.

"Don't mention it," he says uneasily. Something is off. Something…is familiar. He studies her face, and as she steps forwards he has a brief notion of what it might be.

"Laura—no," he says, putting his hands on her shoulders. "Not like this." He realizes that this is why she has been jumpy all day. She'd known this was coming, and she didn't want it to happen, whatever her reasoning may be. So he won't let it.

She blinks, as if awakened by his voice. And then he feels the pheromones beginning their deadly work, a gentle tickling at his mind, suggesting things. Like how easy it would be to let his hands slide down to her sides.

"Goodnight," he says, letting her go. They nod slightly at each other, and head down their respective corridors. Julian makes it into his room and locks the door; with a thought he moves his bureau in front of the door. He knows that neither of them can be trusted right now.

**…**

_Knock knock, _on his door. He opens one eye and glances at his alarm clock; it's nine o' clock in the morning, way too soon. They need to be at the office by 10:00; from there they will be directed as to which highway they will be maintaining for the day.

"Comin'…" he yawns, trips on his blanket, and almost brains himself on his dresser—blocking the door.

Oh. Right. He eyes the door. Laura and the pheromones. Which will be a problem today—an unavoidable problem. It would be hard to explain to the Professor why they've skipped out on a mandatory assignment.

He moves the dresser back to its original place, without a sound, and twists the doorknob cautiously, thinking. How will he manage this?

Laura's eyes are trained on the floor. She's wearing baggy clothing that looks like her brother's; an oversized sweatshirt with the hood up, pants that completely hide her legs. She smells funny, too; a mix of semi-repulsive odors emanating from her form like a skunk. She's taken precautions.

She says nothing.

"Let me grab my keys," Julian says. He could fly them there, but Xavier has warned about using their powers in such a fashion. It's safer to drive.

A few minutes later, Laura follows him down the stairs, her hands in the front pocket of her sweater. In the garage, he opens her door; she doesn't even grunt 'thanks' when she gets in. He doesn't comment; the door opens and he backs the car out, deciding to act like she's not even there. Which is difficult; occasionally, between breaths in—despite his opening the windows—he catches a whiff of what he assumes are the pheromones—a good smell, amongst the medley of foul odors she's emitting—as it sends a tingle down his spine and raises the hairs on the back of his neck.

On the road, he considers turning on music, then thinks better of it. He settles for a News channel; Laura does not comment against it, so he listens to reports of unsolved murder cases, garden shows and tax breaks. When they reach their adopted Interstate fifteen minutes later, a Viagra ad comes on, and he bites his lip to keep from laughing, even though the situation isn't really that funny.

Laura is out of the car before he's even stopped it, walking around to the trunk, where the gear is.

She jerks her hand up to indicate that he is to unlock it; he complies, and she burrows in, like a wild animal tearing into its prey. Moments later she pulls on her ugly orange vest, wields her poking stick and a garbage bag; she tucks her sandwich bag into her sweater pocket, then heads down the side of the Interstate very quickly without stopping to clean up the garbage nearby. Downwind of where he is standing; he can tell because there is a breeze.

Julian moves more slowly, trying to ignore the hurt that has inadvertently come with her actions—now that he is alone again. She's so eager to make sure nothing happens between them. Is she disgusted by him or something? He doesn't think so—based on what she's said, and how she's acted in the past—but his instinctive feeling is rejection.

Spinning his stick around like a baton, he stabs it viciously into a pop can beside his car's tire.

**…**

After a hard day of harvesting garbage off the side of the Interstate, Julian heads back to the car and looks in the direction Laura has been cleaning. She's still going, about a mile off, stooping to pick up a wrapper of some sort.

He calls to her; she picks up her bag and heads towards him. He steels himself for a rush of pheromones, but nothing happens. He opens the trunk, and helps her tuck in the huge bag beside his.

Laura suddenly raises her head, cringing and looking over his shoulder. Her hood falls around her shoulders.

_**RRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRMMMMMM, **_a car—a red Karmann Ghia—zips past them, probably flooring the gas pedal.

_**WOOWOWOOWOWOOWOWOOWOWOOWOWOO-**_

Police cars. Julian turns; there are about four police cars in pursuit of this car. _Four. _It's probably something serious; he thinks for a second, then looks at the car again.

"I'll be right back," he says to Laura.

Moments later, he is gaining on the car from high above. This should be simple; he knows exactly what to disconnect on the gear shaft. He reaches out; the car makes a __sound as it suddenly begins to slow down. He hears a panicky voice saying '_FUCK!' _from inside the car; he quickly heads back to where Laura is waiting, before anyone can see him _flying._

The Police cars swoop down on the now-stopped vehicle, a mile down the road, and the doors slam open in a flurry of activity. He sees officers drawing weapons and screaming at the car's driver, but he can't hear what they are saying.

"That was pretty cool," Laura says, watching all of this, their situation momentarily forgotten. "You think fast, kid. You just might make it."

"Make what?" Julian asks.

"I dunno. Make it out alive?" Laura suggests. Her hair moves in the breeze; he gets the tingle up and down his spine again. He digs in his pocket for his keys.

Laura turns, catches his eyes, then looks at the hood of his car. He flushes—he knows what thought has just run through her mind. It's running through his mind too, stronger with every breath he takes.

"Your hood," he says softly.

She starts and pulls it up; they get into the car, and he rolls the windows down by pressing a button on the driver's side door. Laura leans against the passenger side window and doesn't speak.

Soon they are back at the mansion. Laura's first out of the car; he follows her up the stairs, noting the tingling up and down his spine has grown more constant now, more insistent.

"Laura?" he asks, as she's about to branch off into the woman's dorms. She freezes, but doesn't turn around. "What?" she asks, her voice stiff. It's clear she doesn't want to talk.

"Is this about me?" he asks. He can't help wondering.

Laura doesn't answer.

"I don't understand why you're so afraid of something happening," he says to her back, unable to help himself. "I get the whole pheromones thing, I do. But…it's already happened once. Why are you so afraid of it happening again?" He pauses. "Do you not like me, or something?"

"Goodnight," she says gruffly.

"Please answer me," he says. "The truth will hurt less."

Now Laura turns, and her eyes are full of anger. "Really? Are you sure? The truth doesn't hurt less for _me!_ Just leave me alone!"

"Laura—" he starts, but she silences him. "No! I told you to leave it alone! One of the things I hate about you is you don't respect me!"

"You don't respect _me_either," he says, seething. "You started this whole thing, then you won't finish it. You leave me hanging on, with no closure, and no clue. I—"

"You want to hear it? I think you're disgusting, repulsive, and I'm ashamed I slept with you to begin with!" Laura snaps. "I keep taking showers but I can't wash your dirt off! There, are you happy?"

Julian is stunned into silence. They stare at each other for a moment, neither believing what she has just said, or that she had the nerve to say it. As she watches him, the intensity of the tingle from the pheromones turns hot; she is releasing more of them. Maybe because her body is denying her words.

The next moment finds them entangled. Julian's hands are already under her clothing, fervently feeling her skin; hers are already at his belt, undoing the buckle. He breaks off the kiss, takes her hand and leads her down the hallway to his room.

"I shouldn't—" she says, as he opens the door with his mind. But she doesn't finish the sentence, follows him in and shuts the door behind them. Her fingers find the hem of his shirt and then she pulls it off; he takes her in his arms, closes his eyes and presses his nose to her neck, inhaling and letting the pheromones saturate his system. The more he gets, the more he wants, and the more he needs.

His hands find their way under her sweater and push it off roughly, then he throws it to the side with an annoyed expression. It was in his way. She tears off his shirt, he deals with her pants, almost systematically, as if they are nuisances, unnatural barriers.

Julian picks her up and throws her on the bed; she seems to enjoy this, as she sits up slightly, her eyes demanding more. He puts his hands on her sides and runs them down the length of her body, then gets to work on exciting it. She arches her back as he settles on his knees and tastes her. When he decides she's ready, he climbs up and pulls her down the bed to meet him, still standing on the floor. He feels something burst (he doesn't even recall feeling this last time) and pushes in harder, incensed. The pace he sets starts off frenzied and grows even more intense. When he gets close, Laura suddenly sits up and kisses him, her hands running down his jaws and neck; this surprises him, as they haven't really expressed much tenderness in the last few minutes. He doesn't even notice himself finishing, as he's too focused on what his mouth is doing.

About an hour later, they curl up on his bed, exhausted. They are both still covered in grime from their hard day of labor, and now a sheen of perspiration, but neither notices. Sleep comes easily.


	12. Chapter 12

******____****ANNOUNCEMENT: **Two new stories-_Like a Boss: Tainted Love_ and _We're in This Together Now, _along with the update wave! Enjoy! :o)

* * *

**-12-**

* * *

Laura awakes slowly. She can smell _him_ all over herself. She feels her heart sink. Not again. Another memory that she'll have to repress. She realizes, next that his arm is under her head; she raises it and rolls over, to look at him. He's still asleep, his thick lashes closed, his eyebrows raised with the absence of expression. His heart is pumping slowly and peacefully.

She pictures having to put her claws through it. Or slicing through his jugular.

Laura shudders. She doesn't want to, and she doesn't want Jim to do it either. She suddenly realizes how against this idea she is. It's too late, she's in too far, despite her desperate attempts to keep away.

She thinks, for a while. How can she protect him, from her brother, who knows her so well he can almost read her mind? No, she can't. Jim has a tactical advantage over herself. He knows all her weaknesses, as she knows his; and he has the advantage of size and weight over her.

The adamantium skeleton. Will that affect Jim's healing factor?

But no, Laura doesn't want to fight her own brother. Her eyebrows draw together; that would be like killing her mother all over again. She has to find a way to talk him out of this. Maybe she can use Jean against him. She knows her brother is enamored with the redhead; sometimes he talks of almost nothing else but bedding her. She also knows that Jim has never been so obsessed with any girl, and this is a sign that he likes her—for more than her looks. She means something to him.

"Hnnk—huh?" Julian is waking up.

She sits up, dangles her legs over the bed and examines it for her clothing. She raises her eyebrows; again her garments are flung in every which direction, as if elements of desperation and urgency were involved. She never remembers much from heat; at least, not like her regular memories. Her recollection of this timeframe is more feral; smells, sounds, sights, tastes, touch and sensation, but not a cognitive flow of events.

"L-Laura?" he's asking uncertainly, now looking around as well. She doesn't answer.

"Crap," he says. "I'm sorry. I tried."

"I know," she says quietly, picking up her sweater. It's not his fault. She knows what the pheromones can do; they reduce her victims to nearly the same feral state as they do her. The scientists that designed her had been trying to create a pheromone weapon; the idea was that the twins could 'anaesthetize' their prey, making difficult kills even easier. This technology was based on the pheromone patterns of cats. Jim has the ability too, but he succeeded in mastering it, and does not use it often, for lack of need. He doesn't use it in his romantic pursuits, because (bizarrely enough) he has a sense of honor, and thinks such actions would indicate that he can't get by on his own.

Laura, on the other hand, was botched. Her pheromone secretion power manifested at puberty—after her first menstruation—and was quite traumatic, as the pheromones seized control of three male scientists. She wasn't given a choice and didn't know how to dampen it. As time went on, the pheromones became a sort of 'heat' period, like one a cat would undergo.

The twins are immune to each other's pheromones, thankfully something the scientists perfected. Laura has enough trouble dealing with outside threats. For the most part, she doesn't resist the call of the wild; usually there are no attachments, no embarrassing memories, just the scratching of an itch.

Usually.

"Let's just finish the project," Laura says.

"Okay," he says. They pull their clothes on in silence, then Laura leaves to take a shower.

**…**

On the highway, Laura does some hard thinking as she cleans up the new litter. She finally admits that rejecting Julian is just not going to be effective anymore; she knows she can't follow through on her assignment to kill Xavier and his students. She would be haunted for the rest of her life, and seeing that it's going to be a long life with no end in sight, she had better do everything she can to keep herself from such a situation.

When Julian calls down the road that it is time to go, she makes a decision.

**…**

"Thank god, we're finished," Julian says, then groans, that evening, as he's shoving a garbage bag into the trunk of the car. It won't fit; after a second he gives it a look and there is a loud _CRUNCH!_ and the bag compacts, from inside.

He slams the door shut, then looks down the highway, at his section, as he digs his keys out of his pocket.

"I'm almost going to miss this place," he says.

Leaning on the side of the car, Laura half-smiles.

"Alright. Let's beat it."

He turns to head for the driver's side, but she reaches out and touches his arm.

"Wait," she says, looking strained now. "I need to talk."

Julian stops, not knowing whether to be excited or afraid.

"What about?" he asks carefully, studying her face. She looks amazing in the dusk, her hair blowing around her face in the wind, the dying sunlight illuminating the higher points of her face. The shadows rimming her eyes make them look haunted.

"Something big."

"About us?" he asks. He's afraid she's going to say something along the lines of her leaving the school, because of him, and what he's done. As much as he believes it's not his fault last night happened, he still feels guilty. He shouldn't have asked her that question last night. He should have gone straight to his room and locked the door.

"Part of it." She pauses. "Why I'm at the school."

So this is it. "I'm guessing it's not so you can get jumped during, uh, that time of the month," he says, his heart sinking.

"Not really." She smiles briefly. "I'm at Xavier's…to kill him."

Julian freezes, raises his eyebrows. "…What?" he asks. He can't have heard her right.

"Jim and I are called Weapon X. We're a covert black ops team. We were designed by a team of leading geneticists out of scraps of DNA, and conceived in vitro through cloning processes." She pauses, seeing Julian's overwhelmed look. "Test tube babies," she adds. "We were artificially aged, and given the most advanced training available, to turn us into weapons."

"I—_what?_" Julian asks. "Artificially aged? How old are you?"

"I was made ten years ago. But that doesn't matter. The techniques and mental uploads they used made me physically and emotionally whatever age it says on my driver's license." Laura pulls out her wallet and glances at the card. "It says seventeen."

Leaning on the car, he rubs his face. "Holy mother of god."

Laura ignores this. "We escaped the lab that made us, and started our own mercenary group. For the past four years, we've worked for the highest bidder. The bids have steadily increased, until we were offered fifty million dollars, our own private continents, and a number of human slaves, if we murdered Charles Xavier." She pauses. "Jim later informed me that this included his students as well."

Julian is silent. He is completely overwhelmed with bad news. What she has said is worse than anything he'd ever expected. He looks at her again, but his mind can't see her as being younger.

Then the other part sinks in. "Kill Xavier?" he gasps. "Wait—the students too?"

"Yes," Laura says. "This is why I didn't want to form an association with you."

"This is bad," Julian says, slumped against the back of the car. "Really bad. You…how many people have you killed, Laura?"

"I don't want to get into that," Laura says. "I told you this because I need help in coming up with a plan."

"I can't help you," he says. He closes his eyes. "Jesus. You're _ten. _Jesus. And you're planning to kill everyone at the school. Fuck, Laura…that's a little much for me."

"You remember that woman you saw? That you _killed?_" Laura asks, her voice sharp. Julian stiffens at the memory. "She was my _handler,_Kimura," Laura says, her voice low. "Her job was to punish me and Jim. Do you know how many times she's cut off my limbs? Or broken my neck? Or removed my tongue?"

"Stop!" Julian snaps.

"My point is, my life's not all fluffy bunny rabbits and pretty rainbows, like _yours_is," she says.

"Yeah, but…" Julian stares straight ahead, into the dust by the side of the road. "I guess I convinced myself that what I saw never happened. Or that you were just a victim."

"I _am_a victim!" Laura says.

"You're continuing the cycle. If you kill Xavier, you're never going to get out of it." He looks at her, his expression strained. "How _could_you?"

Laura doesn't have an answer for this. "Well, what should I do?"

"Do you _want_to…kill us?" he asks.

"No," Laura says.

"What about me? Do you want to kill _me?_" he asks.

"I never said I did," Laura says. "I don't want to do it."

"So don't," he says.

"It's not that simple. Jim wants to do it, and he will. And our contractor is not a man to get angry."

Julian is silent for a while. "Did you tell Xavier?" he asks finally.

"No."

"You should. He helps you with problems," Julian says, remembering how easily the Professor had fixed his dyslexia. While thinking about the twins that would later come to the institute. Julian remembers the question he had asked, about trust. "The Professor already _knows,_" he says suddenly.

"What?" Laura asks, startled.

"Before you came to the school…right before we came to save you. He asked me if I thought he could trust you enough to save you."

Laura breathes through her nose. Xavier is a crafty old bastard. This information puts her slightly at ease, though. If Xavier knows…and she tells him what _she _knows…he will likely be able to stop an attack before it starts. Done deal.

"Fine." She puts her hand on the door handle.

"Just a minute. You're _ten?_" Julian asks, disbelieving.

"I told you, I'm seventeen," Laura says.

"Artificial aging doesn't _count, _Laura," he says. "You don't get the life experience to go with it."

Laura throws back her head and laughs. "HAHAHAHA! I don't have the life experience! Kid, I've been around the block five times to your one."

"But—" Julian still can't wrap his head around the idea. "Aren't I in trouble?"

"With who?" Laura asks.

"The law, if you're ten—"

"I showed you a piece of government issue I.D., Julian," she says, smiling slightly.

"But—"

"Also, I think if they're upset about anything, it'll be that you're a killer."

"I'm _not_ a killer," he says. But he feels relief. What she's said is true; the government considers her to be above the age of consent. The worry slowly dissipates.

They get in the car. "Yes, you are," Laura argues. "It doesn't matter if you meant it or not. It counts as murder."

Julian ignores what she's said, and they head home.

**…**

_**Come in, **_ Professor Xavier calls, not looking up from the book he's reading, quite intently.

The door opens, and the girl named Laura marches in, followed by Julian, the telekinetic. The Professor puts the book away now, bombarded by a wave of emotion and urgency from both of them. It's quite a lot of information; most of it is panic from the boy.

"Children, please, one at a time," the Professor says, even though neither has spoken. "Laura first, if you please."

"There's something you should know," the girl says, her almond-shaped green eyes on the Professor. "Jim and I have been sent here to kill you. And your students. We were hired by a guy named Magneto, who apparently runs a mutant-commune like your own, but has opposite ideals."

The Professor leans back in his chair. "I suspected as much. What did he promise you?"

"Our own continents," Laura says. "Human slaves. All the riches we wanted." She pauses. "In retrospect, I can't believe Jim fell for that. He was the one that booked this for us."

"Ah." The Professor smiles. "Yes, it sounds rather unreal, doesn't it? I've had problems with Mr. Lensherr before. We are…old acquaintances."

"Jim still thinks he's getting paid. He's going to kill you. _And_ Magneto's going to be hella mad that I dropped the dime on him. He may very well do you in himself."

"I see," Professor Xavier says gravely. "We will have to be prepared. When is this event scheduled to take place?"

"Probably about a month," Laura says. "Jim's reporting on your Cerebra project. Magneto told him to hold off on the kill until ordered."

"I see." The Professor seems to think for a moment. "Of course. Laura, you have done well in coming to tell me of this. In fact, you have done exactly what I had hoped you would do. Please say nothing of this to your brother…and continue on, exactly as you have been doing. Be careful not to behave differently, lest it give your intent away. And lastly, I would ask that you come inform me of any change in the plan, or when you are alerted that an attack is about to occur." He smiles at her. "We will be in touch. Julian, is there something you wanted to say to me?"

"…not really," Julian says apprehensively. He sure doesn't want the Professor to know about Laura's 'age'; he's still having trouble with that.

"I will see you later, then," the Professor says cordially.

**…**

"Jesus," Julian says, as they are heading down in the elevator. He's still overwhelmed.

Laura says nothing, her eyes fixed on the door. He glances at her, wishing he _could_ read her mind. He wonders what she thinks about all of this. And if she prevents her brother from killing the Professor, will she stay at the school? He suddenly remembers what he was afraid of before. Laura is well-trained in her powers, except for the pheromones; she doesn't _need_ to be at the school.

Julian hesitates, then reaches out and touches her cheek. She stiffens.

"We can't behave differently, remember?" she says.

"But—" he says.

"No." She pushes his hand away. "This is important. Jim can _smell_ if you touch me."

"…" Julian feels frustration. "Look, are you ever going to let this happen?"

"We can't—" Laura begins.

"Your brother's not _here,_" Julian says pointedly.

"It doesn't matter," Laura says.

The doors open, and they enter the foyer.

"He's a master at reading behavior, and he can tell if anything's happened between us. If there are no pheromones involved, we can't cover it up. He _knows _I wouldn't do anything with you, unless I think you're going to live." This she says in a barely a whisper, close to his ear. "Even if he's not nearby, people _talk_. The gossip runs like piss around here. I know what Warren's doing Sunday night, all of Hank's gross habits, and Jean's strange sex fantasy, thanks to word of mouth."

"But—" Julian says, pulling away and looking at her.

"Leave me alone. I'll see you tomorrow, when we turn in our presentation," Laura says.

Three hallways later she runs into Jim, who gives her a grin. She wonders if he's heard, but then he starts to tell her that he thinks Jean's about to crack, based on an encounter they'd just had.

"That's the best news I've heard all day," Laura says sarcastically. "At least one of us is getting some."

"I thought you did Keller last night," Jim says off-handedly. He'd run into her in the hallway as she was about to leave. Laura flushes. "That's below the belt. You _know_ I don't have a choice."

Jim laughs. "Like you wouldn't have chosen it. Buck up, kid, I wouldn't exactly call your situation a _curse._" He ruffles her hair; Laura kicks him in the shin and heads to their bunk room, with a black cloud over her head, seething.


End file.
